


Still Standing

by XxTheDarkLordxX



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alchemy, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bookshop Owner Draco Malfoy, Bottom Harry Potter, Curse Breaker Harry Potter, Dark Magic, Dark Wizard Draco Malfoy, Down and Out Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy & George Weasley Friendship, Emotional, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, H/D Fan Fair 2019, Happy Ending, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Humor, Intertwined Magic, Life Magic, M/M, Magical Bond, Magical Theory, Mentioned Cannibalism, Mystery, Near Death Experiences, Philosopher's Stone, Secondary Theme: Book Fair, Top Draco Malfoy, Topping from the Bottom, Unredeemed Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2020-10-24 17:28:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20709821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XxTheDarkLordxX/pseuds/XxTheDarkLordxX
Summary: Not many know the evil origins of a Philosopher's Stone. When Draco discovers that the Goblins found one and kept it, he'll stop at nothing to see it taken care of. Even if that means having to deal with Gringotts' very own resident twat: Harry Potter.





	1. Reluctant Concern

**Author's Note:**

> For Prompt #[3](https://docs.google.com/document/d/16er_sVwwFtbVQxtiFqHRWhw09kwNYhywsB-R48qtVPU/edit#).
> 
> I am excited to be able to write for this year's fest. A big thanks to the mods for all the hard work that they do. I would like to give a special shout out and heartfelt thanks to my beta, you know who you are boo. And my friend J who listened to me talk whenever I got stuck. I wouldn't have been able to get this far without them. I hope you all will enjoy my take on Dark Magic and the theories surrounding Philosopher's Stones.

The news shocked the nation, or at least Draco felt it _should _have. Gringotts in possession of a Philosopher’s Stone? _Why _was no one talking about it? Philosopher's Stones weren’t common, it’s not something a Hogwarts drop out could conjure. Only powerful wizards can make one, _powerful Dark wizards. _

He scowled at the three-day-old newspaper; it was mocking him. The headline had been about a cheating scandal that no one cared about. The only mention of the stone had been a tiny blurb describing it as a rare Goblin find on the last page, the page no one even looked at because it was the section dedicated to ‘Muggle of the Month’ that Granger got the Ministry to implement. A picture had been included, but the camera work was dismal at best. It was a tiny stone, not even half the width of his palm, but what stood out the most was a small missing chunk in the centre, almost like something had happened to it.

Considering what happened the last time there was a Philosopher's Stone, wouldn’t the Ministry, the public, and surely the media be all over it?

Why the hell was he the only one concerned? And 'concerned' just pissed him off. Since when did he care about shit that had nothing to do with him?

The sound of a bell went off and Draco startled. He hadn’t had a customer in a week. He tried to pretend he had been working, but unfortunately, his feet were on the desk, his hair was a bit unkempt, and the desk was devoid of anything resembling work.

“Don’t strain yourself,” a sarcastic voice said, mirth clearly audible, and Draco was annoyed.

The man wasn’t familiar, which was odd and a bit unnerving. In Knockturn Alley, _everyone _was familiar. A new face screamed undercover Auror, and Draco was already suspicious.

“What’s with everyone around here?” The man placed a hand on his hip and frowned. He had a thick accent, but Draco couldn’t tell where from. “Every shop I’ve entered has looked at me weirdly.”

“Like what?” Draco asked, a lone brow arched.

The man pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Like that! People act like I’ve done something wrong.” 

“Have you?”

The frown deepened, and Draco found himself enjoying it. It wasn’t often people entered his bookstore, let alone actually _talked _to him.

“No.”

“Then you have nothing to worry about.”

The customer was wary as he stepped forward and placed a book on the counter. “I just want to sell this. The bookstores in Diagon Alley kicked me out for even trying.”

_That _piqued his interest. “Then you’ve come to the right place.”

The first thought that popped into his mind when he looked down was, _fuck_.

“Secrets of the Darkest Arts,” Draco whispered, a finger gently tracing the spine. Not many were printed, and he’d only seen the book a few times as a kid in the library at the Manor. At least he had, before the Ministry took possession of the place.

“I couldn’t get any information out of anyone. The people in Diagon Alley were so rude.”

“That’s because this book is banned,” Draco said, pleased at the way the man’s eyes widened. A gift walked through the door, a gift with a dumb owner who didn’t realize just what it was that was in his possession.

“It’s illegal to own it.”

Hands were raised as he backed away and Draco was thoroughly amused.

“Illegal?” The man whispered, eyes wandering around the shop as he shifted nervously. “My ex-girlfriend’s brother owed me some money and I was repaid with that.”

Must have been a lot of money, Draco mused. He couldn’t imagine a predicament bad enough to give up such a book.

“He fucking would give me an illegal book,” the man cursed as he ran his fingers through his hair. “A conniving prick, just like his sister.”

“I’m surprised the other stores didn’t call in Aurors,” Draco faked concern. It truly was surprising though. Most of the Diagon Alley shop owners were as snooty as their righteous pedestals where they judged anyone remotely dark. 

“You think they did?” The paranoia on his face made Draco feel better about himself. “I can’t get questioned! I’m innocent!”

The temptation to run his finger along the book was almost too strong. If he wanted to acquire it, he’d have to appear uninterested.

“If you sell it to me, you’ll have nothing incriminating should they come looking for you.”

Hope was for morons who didn’t have the means to achieve what they wanted. As the man’s eyes filled with the emotion, Draco didn’t mind hope. Perhaps hope was alright.

“Is it worth anything?”

Merlin, yes. His father had paid a hefty price for a copy, way more money than Draco could ever afford, way more money than he would ever see in his life after the Ministry seized the Malfoy vaults.

“Considering the Ministry has outlawed it, that does lower the value substantially. Considering it wasn’t a high price already, you’ll not find many places wanting to put money towards such a risky purchase.”

“But you will?” The hope was back, and Draco knew he had him right where he wanted him.

“I can offer you 50 galleons but anything more and it’s not worth it for me.”

The man’s shoulders slumped, but he couldn’t tell if it was relief or disappointment.

“I’ll take whatever I can get. I honestly never expected him to pay me back, so this is better than nothing.”

Emotions were easy to suppress; they always had been. But as he opened the till and pulled out all of his galleons, he couldn’t stop the way his fingers shook. He hoped his face was as immobile as it should have been.

“Thank you,” the man quickly put away the money and sprinted towards the door. “No offence, but I hope I never have to come back.” And he was gone.

“Not the first time I’ve heard that,” Draco mumbled. He quickly locked the doors, lowered his curtains, and closed up the shop. Propriety was something he prided himself on, but that went out the window as he ran up the stairs leading to the flat over his shop.

Even though he paid next to nothing for the book, it _was _the last of his money for the next few weeks. A customer or two would tide him over, but the chances of that were slim. Despite that, he couldn’t stop the giddiness from taking over as he sat on his bed and began to read.

The title page filled him with a sense of nostalgia as he read over the familiar chapter titles.

_Chapter One: The Basics of Necromancy_

He never did have a flair for that, much to his father’s disappointment.

_Chapter Two: Summoning Inferi _

Always too creepy for his tastes. Definitely not for him.

_Chapter Three: The Art of Soul Bonds_

That had always been something he had wanted to do as a kid. Soul bonds were permanent, irreversible, and sometimes deadly. He had never been quite Gryffindor enough to take the plunge. Draco wondered if that had changed over the years.

With a new interest in mind, Draco was about to skip to chapter three when something caught his eye.

_Chapter Seven: Life Magic and its Uses in Alchemy _

Alchemy. Something his father had refused to let him look into. There hadn't been many hard no’s when it came to his lessons in the Dark Arts, but for some reason, that was where his father drew the line. Purely out of spite, Draco flipped the pages until he reached chapter seven.

The victory was short-lived, however, when he caught sight of the chapter’s cover page. The book slipped out of his hands and fell to the floor with a loud bang, making him jump.

It couldn’t be.

Draco paced back and forth. It was a mistake, everyone made them—not usually him, but surely other people made them. It was a trick of the eye, a misunderstanding. It was stupid to even consider otherwise. He’d just close the book, and not open it again. Force any thoughts unrelated to his job and shitty life away.

With denial firmly in place, he bent down to pick it up. A quick glance at the photo was a mistake. A grave mistake.

Draco slid down the side of the bed until he was on the ground, knees to his chest and arms wrapped uselessly around them.

Unable to stop himself, his eyes slid back to the photo. It was mocking him. Everything lately was. The concern from earlier returned tenfold. Because there on the cover was the same stone as the one that the Goblin’s found. Missing chunk and all.

A Philosopher's Stone.


	2. The Unfinished Stone

**Chapter 7 Life Magic and its Uses in Alchemy **

_Alchemy can be traced back through generations. Earlier accountings go as far back as the 8th Century. The nature of Alchemy has been wildly misinterpreted over the years. It once started out as a Natural Philosophy similar to Astrology, the latter being an older tradition. While Astrology was an attempt to discover the relationship between humankind and the cosmos and furthering a way to exploit that, Alchemy was an attempt to discover the relationship between humankind and the creator and finding a way to manipulate that. _

_The definition of 'creator' has never been defined with definitive facts. Alchemy recognizes life and has the belief that there must be a creator in which life was formed. By exploiting that, Alchemy was a means to become a creator themselves by harnessing life and prolonging it to the worthy individuals who believed in the craft. _

_During the 12th Century, Alchemists were on the rise. More and more metals were being transmuted. The public consensus was that all base metals could be changed into noble metals if one could create a Philosopher’s Stone, which would heighten enlightening, bring about the Elixir of life and further their status. Unfortunately, Alchemists had to test potential stones through ingestion. Failure resulted in a variety of metal poisoning which dwindled the Alchemist population significantly. _

_It wasn’t until the early 14th Century that an Alchemist by the name of Nicolas Flamel was able to successfully create a Philosopher’s Stone. His findings weren’t ever known to the general public. However, there are records of his creations among other Alchemists and throughout history, if one knows where to look. _

_After the success of the Philosopher’s Stone, many attempts were made to recreate it. Nothing substantial was ever reported to have worked. There were many failures and many devastating consequences that succeeded them. _

_On record, the only stone reported to have merit outside of the Philosopher’s Stone was one that Alchemists gave the moniker, ‘The Unfinished Stone’ (see attached picture above). The stone in colour, shape and properties did not hold up to the standards that Flamel had previously set. The Unfinished Stone had only undergone a fraction of the Life Magic required before unforeseen circumstances halted the process and left it unstable enough that human interaction was impossible. History has reported that the stone was lost, but rumours and sightings have depicted the stone as recently as the late 18th Century. _

_The use of Life Magic was outlawed by fifty countries due to the dangerous repercussions should the rituals fail. To find out more about such rituals, continue to Chapter 8._

* * *

Draco had read and reread the passage enough times that he could recite it by memory. The Unfinished Stone sounded familiar, but it was just a hazy recollection from his childhood. Philosopher’s Stones used to be a myth, at least that’s what the belief was until Flamel. His father had never allowed him to research Alchemy or any by-products related.

Taboo magic was what his father prided himself on. So why was Alchemy off-limits?

The knowledge of Life Magic being required in Alchemy had always made him uncomfortable. Necromancy? Not for him but he could understand it. Soul Bonds? Scary if done wrong but the benefits were appealing. Life Magic? No.

_Never. _

Perhaps that was his father’s hang up as well. When one can harness life, they lose all sense of their own.

The philosophy of Alchemy was intriguing but confusing. Astrology he could understand. People wanted life to hold meaning, and if the stars were a map or an explanation, then it could give answers to those who seek it. Predicting future and current events through the cosmos was an exploitation that suited humanity’s selfish desires. Understandable.

But Alchemy?

Why seek powers to compare to a figurative creator? Why follow in perceived footsteps when one can pave their own path? Draco wasn’t sure he understood the obsession Alchemists had placed on their creator; if such an entity even existed.

Maybe that was the scientist in him. As fanciful as Astrology could be, it was leagues above Alchemy in terms of factual evidence. It was hard for Draco to wrap his mind around people whose motivation was no different than a wild imagination. 

Despite the back history the book provided, Draco was left uneasy. Where had the Unfinished Stone been found? Who found it? Did they know what they had? Why did the Goblins want to keep it?

_Unstable._ The word whispered fear into his mind making it was hard to ignore. Normally, Draco would have disregarded it and moved on. It had nothing to do with him so why bother caring? Instability in magic was dangerous, but instability in something as horrifying as Life Magic was unthinkable. Add in that it was a Philosopher’s Stone? No. It would only end in disaster.

But what could he do? He was a simple shop owner with no influence, no money, no status and nothing of merit. Who would listen to him? The Goblins?

Another glance at the picture of the Unfinished Stone had him sighing. Emotions were complicated and he hated them, hated that it drove him to do stupid things like care. If he was going to accomplish anything, then he’d have to go to the source: Gringotts.

If such a thing as a creator existed, Draco wanted to pray to it to ensure that at the very least, he could walk out of Gringotts without having to see their lead Curse-Breaker and resident twat: Harry Potter.

* * *

“You think the Philosopher’s Stone we acquired is dangerous?”

Draco nodded, eyes on Gagnuk, the bank manager. “Yes.”

“You think it’s unstable?”

“Yes.”

“You think something will happen should it stay here?”

“Yes.”

Silence. He was used to silence, used to having no one to talk to but himself. But as the Goblins stared at him, words non-existent, he wished for noise.

“I can repeat it if you need,” he hedged, shifting from one foot to the other nervously. His father had never been a fan of Goblins, but Draco had always chalked that up to bigotry.

“No,” Gagnuk said slowly. “We heard you, we just don’t believe you.”

Well, that’s just great.

“Why would I come all the way here to lie?” Did they think he had all the free time in the world? He did, but it wasn’t like they _knew _that.

“Your kind thrive in deceit, Mister Malfoy.”

“Wizards?”

“_Dark_ wizards.”

Of course, that’s all he was to everyone, wasn’t he?

“Not to be rude—” A lie, he hoped they could tell too. “But Goblins also thrive in deceit.”

Long, gangly and dirty fingers tapped underneath Gagnuk’s chin as cold eyes regarded him steadily before a startlingly creepy smile appeared on his face, jagged teeth prominent.

“Observant, I like that in your kind.”

“Dark wizards?”

“Wizards.”

The atmosphere changed; the Goblins seemed more relaxed than they were when he had entered.

Gagnuk folded his fingers on the desk. “We have come across magic that wizards will never be able to fathom. We’ve fought wizards at a time when we couldn’t fathom their magic. We fought Dark Magic despite not understanding it. I have fought your kind, other wizards, other species, and humanity in general. We do not aim to dismiss your claim entirely, but we do have doubts.”

“Why?” He didn’t understand. The knowledge was out there. Were Goblins so distrustful that they wouldn’t seek help outside of their own communities? Not that wizards had ever given them a reason to.

“We thoroughly investigated the stone. There was no magic inside, no signatures, no residue, there was nothing. By all appearances, the stone does not seem to be malignant. If it were not for where it had been found, we would have thought it was a simple rock.”

_What? _

There was no magical signature? That didn’t make sense. There _had _to be. Anything unstable would have an ungodly amount of magic, too much to decipher, and an energy that _would’ve_ been felt. The fact that it was Alchemy alone would have meant a strong magical residue, but add in Life Magic? There was _no way_ the stone had been benign.

“I can see you weren’t expecting that.”

Draco glanced up, half wondering what it was that his face had shown, but the rest of him was still reeling.

“I don’t understand,” he whispered, eyes falling to the desk as his mind raced. “Life Magic _always_ leaves a trace.”

A mistake. Goblins Draco hadn’t even known were in the room flanked Gagnuk’s chair and an unwelcome energy surrounded them.

_“Life magic?”_

It was said as if he had personally threatened them. The somewhat friendly aura was gone, leaving him a bit nervous. He might be able to go head to head with one Goblin and _maybe _remain intact, but not a room full.

“What did you think Philosopher’s Stones were made of? Pure Light Magic? How _naive_.”

Gagnuk didn’t like that. Draco could tell by the way he stilled, and his eyes became a soft silver, an indicator of a pissed off Goblin. His father always said to stay clear of Goblins with silver eyes.

“There has never been anything published linking Life Magic to a Philosopher’s Stone.”

“Of course not,” Draco scoffed. “You think Flamel wanted the world to know _how _he made it? They would have vilified him in a heartbeat. He wouldn’t have lasted a decade if the public knew, and that’s being generous.”

More silence. Just what he wanted, joy. Draco’s fingers tapped the arm of his chair restlessly. Why did Goblins have to be so difficult?

“We have come full circle.”

“What?” Draco frowned, not liking that Gagnuk stood up. It sounded like a dismissal.

“You have given us a lot of information. None of it can be verified, and all we have is your word.”

Draco wanted to slam his hand down on the desk, but that would get him maimed in a heartbeat.

“Unfortunately,” Gagnuk gestured towards the door of his office, which sprang open immediately. “We are not comfortable acting on one wizard’s opinion.”

“It’s _not _an opinion,” Draco said, far louder than he should have. “I _know _what I’m talking about. You said it yourself, you don’t understand Dark Magic, but _I _do. I’ve been around it my whole life. Hell, I’ve _used _it my whole life.”

The silver left Gagnuk’s eyes, and Draco hoped it was an indicator that he was _finally _being listened to.

“We may not understand Dark Magic, but we have employed people who do.”

Draco doubted that. No Dark Wizard worth a damn would work for Goblins without _significant_ incentive. Gagnuk gestured to one of the Goblins in the room, who quickly vacated.

“We’ll allow you to talk to them, if and only if they feel that what you are saying has merit, will we take you seriously.”

Lovely. His credibility was riding on someone else, because _that _was fair.

When the Goblins left the room and Potter walked in, he knew he was screwed.

“Malfoy.” The tone was terse and green eyes were hard, but Draco didn’t give a fuck. He was tempted to leave, there was no point in talking to Potter.

More proof that there was no creator. Fucking Alchemists and their delusions.

“_You’re _the expert on Dark Magic?” He couldn’t withhold a snort if he had tried. What a joke.

“I think I’d know something about it, wouldn’t you?”

“No,” Draco folded his arms across his chest and stood up, taking note of the way Potter’s hands went to a wand holster. “You don’t know a damn thing about Dark Magic.”

Potter took a step forward, anger manifesting on his face and the way he held himself.

“You don’t know the horrors I saw,” Potter growled. “The things I saw Voldemort do and the knowledge of past things he had done.” 

“I’m not doubting that,” shrugged Draco. “I’m not doubting Dark Magic has been used on or near you. I _am_, however, doubting any claim that you are an expert on the subject.”

“It’s not up to you to doubt me.”

“Tell me, how many years have you practised Dark Magic?”

Potter jerked back. “What?”

“How many trials did you complete? How many days did you spend on Blood Magic?”

“Blood Magic?” Potter looked sick at the thought. “Trials?”

“When you failed your first attempt, because everyone does, how many hours did you lose? How much of your magic had been siphoned away?”

“Siphoned? I—”

“What are the properties of Dark Magic and can you recite the oaths that we live by?”

“Malfoy—”

“Tell me!” Draco yelled. “Tell me what the fuck you know about Dark Magic.”

“I don’t!” Potter’s face was red with frustration and his wand had been pulled out. “I don’t know the first thing about wielding it. I _do_ know how to detect it. I’ve felt Dark Magic and I know what to look for.”

“No, you don’t,” Draco argued. “Not all Dark Magic leaves a visible trace. Dark Magic isn’t all flashy like the Dark Lord made it out to be. The majority of it is subtle, barely detected but there, taking root and corrupting what’s left. You know _nothing _on the subject and it’s pathetic that you think you do.”

“Pathetic,” Potter shook his head, a bitter expression on his face, one that didn’t sit well with him. “I’m pathetic for not knowing Dark Magic but you expect me to care when that’s all you know? Dark Magic is as evil as you and your fucked-up family.”

Evil. Draco’s hands clenched inside his ratty robes and _Merlin_ did he wish he could hex Potter.

“Ignorance in the form of authority is dangerous,” Draco whispered. “You know nothing about what you are condemning, you know nothing about the subject at all but preach as if you do. You vilify on nothing but prejudice.”

“You would know a thing or two about prejudice, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Draco said. “I would. Why do you think I can recognize it? I’ve been on both ends and obviously, so have you.”

Potter frowned, and Draco wondered if it was the first time someone had ever called Potter prejudiced.

“Why did you come here?”

_ Finally_, something of importance.

“The Philosopher’s Stone the Goblins have possession of is a danger.”

“How so?” Potter’s eyes were narrowed, and all Draco could see was suspicion.

“The fact that it’s a Philosopher’s Stone at all _should _be enough. That one, though, is unstable and didn’t receive the full magic it needed.”

“If it’s incomplete, how is it a danger? People would seek it out if it was finished.”

That line of thought was idiotic. “What makes you think they won’t seek it out now?”

“It’s incomplete,” Potter said slowly, and Draco was fascinated with the levels of stupidity there was to him.

“You’re an oxymoron.”

“Excuse me?”

“How can you be so smart but so fucking stupid at the same time?”

Potter’s jaw clenched, and Draco was kind of proud of that. He was glad he got underneath Potter’s skin. It was only fair, just the sight of his stupid face was enough to get under his own.

“Enlighten me then,” Potter said, one hand gestured toward him.

“After Flamel, there had never been another stone close besides the one that was found. That stone in the hands of someone who can complete it is not something you want to see.”

“I thought Alchemy was an archaic tradition.”

“It is,” Draco agreed. “But Flamel left records on how he did it. They’re out there, and all it’s going to take is one wizard, one determined wizard, and they’ll have the information to finish it.”

“Even if they do, it’s eternal life, not the end of the world.”

“You’re a moron.”

When Potter’s fingers twitched on his wand, Draco realized he probably shouldn’t push him.

“Potter, what do you know about the Philosopher’s Stone?”

Potter leaned against the wall before he placed his wand back in the holster. “Elixir of life, it also turns metals into gold.”

“I’ve met children who know more than you.”

“Are you going to insult me all day? Because I can just leave, tell the Goblins you’re delusional.”

“A Philosopher’s Stone can transmute common metals into noble ones, yes, but that’s not what I care about. The Elixir of Life is the problem.”

Potter said nothing, just arched his brows.

“Do you know what Life Magic is?”

“Should I?”

Draco wanted to scream. What did Potter actually know? How did he get so far in life with nothing noteworthy in any kind of education?

“Life Magic is one of the most _dangerous_ forms of Dark Magic. With Life Magic, I could steal every bit of life inside you.”

Potter couldn’t move backwards, so he slid sideways in an attempt to get away from Draco.

“Not just your magic, but your energy, your soul, your life essence, and anything remotely residual that would have naturally been left behind.”

_“What the fuck?”_

“I could then harness your life and do anything I wanted with it. I could absorb it into my own magic—I wouldn’t recommend that, consequences tend to be the caster’s life. I could put your life inside other people, inanimate objects, and even the dead.”

“Necromancy?” There was a flushed look to Potter’s face, and he looked a few seconds away from vomiting.

“Not quite. With Necromancy there is no life. They are reanimated to do the caster’s bidding, but they are mere puppets in the long run, and only live as long as the spell or the caster themselves. With Life Magic, a person’s life can live_ independently _of the caster.”

“What does this have to do with the stone?”

“Most people don’t question beyond what is readily available to them. Magic is taken for granted. If I asked you to perform a spell, you would most likely be able to do it. But if I asked you _where _the spell came from, where the magic came from, I don’t think you’d know.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Potter, why do you think the Philosopher’s Stone is known as the Elixir of Life?”

“Because it prolongs life?”

“How do you prolong life if you don’t have any to spare?”

It took a minute before Draco could see understanding in wide horrified eyes.

“Life Magic went into each and every attempt at creating a Philosopher’s Stone. Life that was harnessed from _somewhere_. People _died_ for Flamel’s stone; people _died _for the one that the Goblin’s now own. I can’t give you a number because I can’t even fathom how much life it would take to leave someone with enough to last several lifetimes.”

“But Flamel—” Potter was struggling with something. “Dumbledore was _friends_ with him. Flamel was—”

“A Dark Wizard,” Draco interrupted. “There is no humane way to make a Philosopher’s Stone. Life Magic is _not _something a Light Wizard can accomplish. It would take decades of training in the Dark Arts to even attempt it, and even then, it might not be enough. Dark Magic isn’t inherently evil, but Life Magic_ is_. Anyone who can perform it has taken the life of someone to make it possible.”

“Are Horcruxes Life Magic?”

_Whoa._ Draco put his hands in the air and fought the urge to step back.

“No, that’s a different evil. I would say it’s a branch of Soul Magic. Not a Soul Bond, people tend to confuse the two.” Not that Potter would know anything about that.

“How do _you _know what a Horcrux is?” That certainly wasn’t in the Hogwarts syllabus.

“It doesn’t matter.”

It did to Draco. He was curious, that didn’t happen often. He opened his mouth to ask, but Potter kept talking.

“If Flamel was a Dark Wizard, why was Dumbledore friends with him?”

“I think friend is a very loose term when it came to Dumbledore. Flamel had been alive for centuries. What could Dumbledore have done against someone of that magnitude? Flamel was treasured by society. People called him a genius, a wizard out of time, someone whose work would lead future generations.”

“But Dumbledore would’ve known, right?”

Draco shrugged. “You didn’t. Do I think he knew? Yes. Dumbledore learned the little bit of Alchemy he knew _from _Flamel. It’s all in the history books. I don’t think they did anything remotely like Life Magic, but Dumbledore wasn’t stupid. I can’t say for certain what he knew. No one can.”

Potter didn’t look okay, but Draco didn’t care; he thought it was karma.

“You came here worried someone would try and take it?”

“Yes and no,” Draco lifted his hands up. “The Daily Prophet reported about the stone, the knowledge is already out there. Someone _could _try and take it, but I think it would take some time.”

“Then why did you come?”

“The stone the Goblin’s found—”

“I found,” Potter said. “It wasn’t the Goblins. I found it on an excavation mission in a tomb in Egypt.”

“Okay, the stone _you _found is unstable and incomplete. That makes it dangerous to possess.”

“If it’s locked away in a vault miles below here, I don’t see how it’s an issue.”

“That’s because you can’t grasp the reach of Dark Magic. An incomplete stone will attempt to become complete. Life Magic lives independently, remember? If you keep that stone wherever it’s at, things are going to start happening. Dark Magic already corrupts what it comes in contact with. Dark Magic that is independent? There’s no saying the level of destruction or corruption that will happen.”

Potter was frowning and it wasn’t attractive. “If no one comes in contact with it, then—”

_“You don’t understand,”_ Draco said through gritted teeth. “It doesn’t need to come in contact with anyone for things to start happening.”

“Things? What kind of things?”

“I can’t say for certain what will happen, but I know that things _will _happen.”

“You want us to move the stone based on what you think will happen?”

“No, I _know_.”

“There’s no evidence of that,” Potter shook his head. “There’s no evidence of any of this.”

“You think I’m lying?” Draco made his way to the door. There wasn’t anything else he could do. He gave all the information he had, and it still wasn’t enough.

“I think you know what you are talking about.” His tone was placating, and Draco hated him a little bit more. “But I need more than your say so. I need facts, and until you have that, we can’t do anything about it.”

Draco paused in the doorway. “When things start happening—which they _will_—and Merlin forbid people start dying, I want you to remember this moment. I want you to remember that it was _you _who refused to do anything. If people die, Potter, their blood is on your hands. I hope you can live with that.”

He didn’t bother to turn around and see Potter’s face. The sight alone would have infuriated him. Draco slammed the door behind him and vowed to never set foot inside Gringotts again. It wasn’t as if he had any money anyway.

If Potter wouldn’t move the stone, then Draco would just do it himself.

Fuck Flamel, fuck whoever created the Unfinished Stone, fuck Alchemy and their stupid beliefs. Fuck Dumbledore, fuck the Goblins, and more importantly, fuck Potter. 


	3. A Synonym of Knowledge

Outside of Gringotts and with some decent sleep, Draco was ashamed of his past self. Take the stone himself? What kind of Gryffindor bullshit was that? A bit too extreme for his tastes.

If Potter and the Goblins didn’t want his help, then fine. They’d be the ones held responsible, and he hoped they were the first victims. He had a business to run and customers to greet, there was no time for foolish nonsense.

Three weeks later, no customers in sight, and a boredom that rivalled his laziness was enough to drive him mental. He should have chosen Diagon Alley for his shop. He could have pretended to be one of them. It would have given him enough money to survive, that’s for sure.

The bell above the door went off, and Draco pulled a muscle trying to sit up in time to greet the customer with a polite smile in place—until he realized who it was and slumped back down.

“Draco dear, won’t you try some of my ladyfingers? They are fresh.”

A tray was placed on the desk, and he had to push it away before he would puke.

“No, Mrs Crooks. I told you last time and every day since that I’m not into human flesh.”

Caden Crooks, the owner of the bakery next door was a senile old bat who really shouldn’t be let loose on the general public.

“I worry about you, all alone and bitter.”

“I am not bitter, okay? I’m morose, there’s a difference.”

She reached up to pat his cheek, and he really wished she wouldn’t. Who knew what she did with those hands? Merlin knows where she got human fingers from.

“You don’t eat enough.” Crooks tsked. “Skin and bones you are, the men of my generation had meat on their bones.”

“They probably had money.”

“You’re always welcome in my bakery. I don’t mind feeding you.”

_Hell no._ Never in a million years would he trust her cooking. It’s a wonder the Ministry hadn’t shut the place down for health violations.

“How generous of you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Crooks had a small smile on her face as she looked around the shop, and Draco wondered how aware she really was.

“I don’t know why you don’t get any customers; the place isn’t even that ugly.”

_'Murder is wrong. Murder is wrong.'_ Draco repeated the mantra over and over in his head.

“Thank you,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Did you get questioned yet?”

He knew better than to indulge her delusions, he did, but she seemed so sincere. “What?”

“The nice Aurors. They are questioning people in Diagon Alley and here who might have seen a missing person. I can’t remember much, but the one in charge...she had such nice fingers.”

Oh, Merlin.

“It’s a shame she wasn’t alone.”

Of all the shops that could have been next door, why did it have to be hers?

Crooks stared at nothing for far too long, and it was disturbing. Before he could decide the best way to kick her out, she startled hard enough to jostle the tray of fingers.

“I think I have a customer.” She smiled, and he could tell she had indulged in some of her ladyfingers before coming over.

Life truly wasn’t fair. Someone like Crooks actually made a decent living but yet he was the one living in poverty.

“Please don’t hurry back,” he called after her, praying she would stay away for the rest of the week. He could only handle so much.

It wasn’t until he was about to close up for the night that his door opened again. Draco didn’t bother looking up. Crooks was the only one who ever came by anyway.

“How did the fingers sell?”

“Fingers?”

Draco’s head snapped up only for him to groan. Why? Why did the universe hate him? Of all the Aurors.

“Granger, Weasley.”

Just a regular old school reunion. He could have gone his whole life without seeing the moronic trio, and now he’s seen all three of them in the span of a month. Lovely.

“Malfoy,” Weasley’s nose wrinkled as he looked around the room, and if he wasn’t an Auror, Draco would have hexed him. “Nice place you have here.”

“About as nice as you I imagine.”

Weasley glared, but Granger cleared her throat.

“We would just like to ask you some questions, if that’s alright.”

“Do I need my lawyer present?”

Granger arched a brow as she pulled out a small notebook. “Do you feel like you need one?”

“Well, you _do _work for the Ministry after all. They’ve never exactly been for the people, so excuse me if I’m against everything they stand for.”

“Hey—”

Granger placed an arm on Weasley, who had stepped forward.

“We aren’t here about you.”

“Oh, good. Then you can leave.”

Granger closed her notebook with a snap that echoed around the room.

“I see you’re still difficult.”

“It’s part of the charm.” Draco’s hands lifted in the air. “You know where the door is, I’m closing up.”

“Let’s just get out of here ‘Mione. I doubt he knows anything anyway. Gringotts isn’t exactly on the way.”

“Gringotts?” Draco leaned forward; half bent over his desk.

“A Goblin has gone missing.”

What had started out as a twitch of Draco’s lips turned into a full-blown smirk. He couldn’t help it.

“Just the one?”

Weasley crossed his arms and eyed Draco warily. “Are you expecting more?”

Yes. He was. There was no evidence to suggest the Goblin was missing due to the stone, but Draco _knew_. The timing made sense. Goblins weren’t known for leaving their brethren, and he doubted a wizard did it, not in today’s society.

“I don’t know anything about a disappearance,” Draco said. “But do me a favour and tell Potter ‘I told you so’.”

“Harry,” Weasley frowned. “What does he have to do with anything?”

“I think you’d be better off asking him.”

Granger’s eyes were narrowed, and it didn’t look like she believed him, but he didn’t care.

“Come on Ron, let’s go. We still have people to interview, and I’m hungry.”

“There’s a bakery next door,” Weasley said as they moved towards the door. “That old lady was nice, even if she was a bit…dodgy.”

Perhaps there was a creator after all.

“Do try the Shepherd’s Pie,” Draco yelled as they opened the door. “It’s her daily special, said to be made with mystery meat. Do let me know how it tastes.”

“Shepherd’s pie is my favourite,” Weasley said as the door closed, and Draco laughed. He hoped they got sick.

As he locked the door and blew out the candles, he wondered how many more disappearances it would take for Potter to get his head out of his arse.

It wasn’t his problem; it wasn’t his fight. It was on Potter.

* * *

“Have you heard about the little girl that went missing?”

Draco paused, the key to his shop suspended mid-air as he eavesdropped. Crooks was talking to a customer, and he was still bitter she had any customers at all.

“Merlin, no.”

“Rumour has it she was with her parents getting money from their vault. One minute she was there, and the next she was gone.”

It should have been hard to be smug with the knowledge that a child was missing, but Draco’s spite was stronger than his morals.

“What have the Goblins said?”

“Not sure, nothing public has been said anyway.”

Of course not. The Goblins wouldn’t say anything until the Ministry made them.

“Strange,” Crooks muttered. “I wonder what’s happening.”

“Heard it was a conspiracy.”

And that’s when Draco stopped listening and went inside. Conspiracy. Honestly, Crooks and her customers were a bunch of loonies.

The lack of customers midday was not a surprise, but it did heighten his boredom. Draco glanced at Secrets of the Darkest Arts and debated whether he should. If a customer came in, that would let them know what kind of magic he was into and that knowledge in the wrong hands would not end well for him. Despite his better judgment, Draco summoned his usual supplies and made room on the floor.

He had only just begun, runes on the ground and blood dripping from a cut palm when the bell above his door went off.

“Mrs Crooks, now is not the time.”

“Who?”

Fucking hell. He didn’t have to look up to recognize the voice.

“What do you want, Potter?”

“For starters, you can tell me what you’re doing.”

“I don’t owe you any answers,” Draco said as he dipped a finger into his blood and traced a rune delicately.

The rune lit up, the light blinding, but he didn’t look away no matter how painful it was. When the sound of rustling was heard, he blinked through blind spots as Potter came in focus with a wand out and a troubled look on his face.

_“What are you doing?”_

“Blood Magic.”

“I can see that.”

Draco arched a brow as he moved onto the next rune. “Then why did you ask?”

Potter didn’t put away his wand, but he did sit on the ground across from Draco, eyes on the runes that had been etched into the wood.

“Is this some kind of wizard version of a satanic ritual?”

“Satanic?” That wasn’t a familiar word.

Potter frowned. “Satan is the Muggle devil.”

“Devil,” whispered Draco as he used his fingers to stretch the cut enough for more blood to pool. It stung but it was a pain he was used to.

“Some Muggles believe those that are bad go to Hell, a domain that is controlled by Satan.”

“Oh?” Draco asked in interest, enough to have him stilling, bloody hand hovering over a rune. “He collects their souls after death? How intriguing. That many souls and no body to tie them to, the options are limitless.”

Potter looked like he regretted bringing it up at all, but Draco was interested—interested enough to make a reminder to do some research. Perhaps Muggles were more fascinating than he thought.

“What do satanic rituals entail?”

“I have no idea.” He looked offended, but Potter was the one to bring it up in the first place. “My imagination thinks it would look a lot like this.”

“I’m not doing anything untoward if that’s what you are worried about. Just simple introspection.”

“Introspection?” The tone was doubtful, and Draco didn’t appreciate it.

“Mhm.” He turned his hand upside down and let the drops fall directly onto the rune. The light returned and Draco stared at it again, noticing that it wasn’t as bright as the previous one.

“Well that’s not good,” Draco mumbled to himself. Part of him wanted to start over but it was useless, the result would be the same.

“What? Nothing happened other than the light.”

“Part of my magic is hibernating.”

Potter’s nose wrinkled, and the look he gave Draco was the same look he used to give Trelawney when she started her delusional rants. It was probably the same look Draco gives Crooks now.

“You can tell just from the light?”

“It’s not an exact science,” Draco shrugged. “But I’ve been doing this for enough years to be able to read my magic.”

“The light was your magic?” Potter leaned forward to get a better look at the runes. “I studied runes after Hogwarts, but I don’t recognize these.”

“Of course not,” he shook his head. “It’s Dark Magic, Potter. You wouldn’t have seen this before.”

At the mention of Dark Magic, Potter stiffened and looked at the runes in disgust. Ah, ignorance seemed to be his only personality trait. How disappointing.

“What did you do?” The tone was accusatory, and it caused him to roll his eyes.

“I told you, introspection.” When Potter’s expression remained the same, Draco huffed.

“Have you ever felt starving, Potter?”

“Starving?”

“I’m not talking about missing lunch and feeling peckish. I’m talking about where you might eat a tiny portion of something one day and then get a rare full meal days later. I’m talking about where no matter how much you eat, when you do find food, it’s not enough and you aren’t sure you’ll ever be full. I’m talking about when food is what you need, but it’s been so long that you aren’t sure you could ever be hungry again.”

Potter’s face shuttered and _ah. _“You do know what I mean.”

Sympathy wasn’t really Draco’s strong suit, but it was hard not to feel for Potter. He wondered when it had happened to him. As a kid? A teenager? A young adult?

“When you haven’t had food for a while, you’re more tired than usual, your energy is low, your magic doesn’t seem as strong, etcetera.” 

“What about it?” Potter’s eyes were on his fingers, and it was obvious he didn’t really want to talk about it at all.

“My magic is starving.”

Potter’s head snapped up, and his eyes were full of concern which was just so _him_ that it made Draco nauseous.

“How can your magic be starving?”

“Because I am.”

Embarrassment had long ago left him, about the same time as when the Ministry took everything from him.

“I—”

Draco held up a hand. He didn’t want to know what Potter was going to say. Pity or empathy, it didn’t matter, both went hand in hand, and neither was what he wanted.

“There are spells—unhealthy ones—that can appease hunger. It’s more of an illusion than anything. Delays one's appetite until actual sustenance enters the body. I’ve been using them so long that my magical core is slowly storing away magic as a form of self-preservation. The body does something similar as well but not quite as extreme.”

“Will you get it back?”

“The hunger or my magic?”

“Both.” Green eyes were large and filled with emotions that had never been directed at Draco by anyone. He wasn’t sure he was comfortable with it.

“My magic will eventually return, when my body is happy. As for the hunger, I imagine it will return tenfold when I stop using the spells. Prolonged use tends to amplify things.”

“That’s horrible.”

“That’s life.”

“No,” Potter shook his head so hard that his disastrous hair flopped around. “No one should have to know what hunger—true hunger—feels like.”

“Some might say it’s karma.”

Potter’s eyes narrowed, and if the way his knuckles bulged was an indicator, the grip on his wand intensified.

“A society that doesn’t care about those in need, is a society that will eventually fail.”

Draco didn’t say anything as he sealed the cut on his hand. Wizard society had never been good, he had just never been on the unfortunate side before.

“Anyway,” Draco said pointedly. “The runes are designed to look within. It’s a way for us to examine our magic, soul, essence, and our very being. It requires a piece of the caster, and that’s where the blood came in. It allowed me to be able to detect any flaws, chips, missing essence or anything else amiss.”

Potter looked back down at the runes. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“That’s because it’s not.”

“Then why is it Dark Magic?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “When you stop associating Dark Magic with words like bad, you might actually learn something.”

“It’s hard to understand,” Potter admitted, and for the first time, he looked a bit lost.

“That’s because the majority of wizard society preaches the horrors of Dark Magic. How can you get a different viewpoint if that’s the only point of view you’re able to see?”

“There _are _horrors in Dark Magic.”

Draco waved that away as he wiped the blood off of the runes. “Of course there is. No one would argue otherwise. Any magic can do harm, Potter. Don’t forget that. Dark Magic is less about what it can do and more about a lifestyle. When you practice Dark Magic, you are practising a new way of looking at the world. One where more than just what is visible can be detected.”

“It’s abused though,” Potter pointed out. “A lot of Dark Wizards use it for horrible things.”

“When you can see more than the average person, you want to keep seeing more,” Draco murmured. “There’s power in knowledge and it becomes an urge that you can’t tame until you do more. More Dark Magic, and more and even _more_ until it’s all you know, and suddenly limits are non-existent.”

“You make it sound like a drug.”

“Only worse,” Draco said, eyes locking with Potter’s. “A drug can be taken away. Dark Wizards can never give up the craft. Their magical core _needs _it. Temporary restriction is used in limited and dire circumstances.”

Potter leaned forward, eyes as bright as Draco’s magic, and it was distracting.

“What happens if a Dark Wizard gives up the craft?”

“I told you, Dark Magic corrupts things. Without a steady supply of Dark Magic, they start to go mad.”

“Mad?” Potter’s brows arched.

“You met Bellatrix, didn’t you? Why do you think she was off her rocker? You can’t come from a family as dark as the Blacks and _not _overuse Dark Magic. In Azkaban without a way to perform magic, her magical core took what it could from her body, leaving the core fried and beyond repair.”

Potter slumped back down, eyes moving minutely, lost in thought. It was interesting talking to Potter, he almost felt like a teacher.

“Is that—” Potter bit his lip, eyes glancing up at Draco hesitantly. “Is that why Sirius had never gone mad in Azkaban?”

“Despite what people have said, Sirius was never a Dark Wizard.”

“His family was,” Potter whispered. “That house was _dark_.”

“Dark Magic isn’t nature versus nurture. It’s a way of life. Sirius didn’t practice Dark Magic because he didn’t want to. Dark Magic isn’t something being around with will tempt others. It can only thrive in those that _want_ it. It wouldn’t have mattered how long Sirius was in that house, he still wouldn’t have been a Dark Wizard. He was, unfortunately, as good as you.”

A twitch of Potter’s lips was also distracting.

“So the mad Dark Wizards are the ones to look out for?” Potter asked as he leaned back on his hands, wand trapped underneath them—and Draco could see the way his biceps flexed with the movement.

“Only if you’re naive,” Draco returned, one corner of his lips lifting up. “Watch out for anyone, Dark or not, and trust no one.”

“Sounds lonely,” Potter said. “Trusting no one.”

“When you’re alone, the only one who can disappoint you is yourself.” 

The response he got was a sad smile, and it was close enough to pity that it made Draco’s fists clench.

“I don’t think you came here for a lesson in Dark Magic,” Draco said before he de-summoned his tools.

“Not exactly,” Potter agreed. “But it was fascinating.”

Fascinating was a lot better than evil. Perhaps Potter was learning.

“I’ve come to talk to you about the stone.”

“That didn’t sound like an apology to me.”

A frustrated sigh was what he got in return, and he couldn’t help but be amused. It was so easy getting to Potter.

“I _might_ have been wrong.”

“For someone as noble as you, you sure don’t know how to apologize.”

“I’m sorry, okay?” Potter said through gritted teeth. “I’m sorry I didn’t take you seriously.”

Draco crossed his legs over the runes still etched on the ground. “When did you change your mind? After the first disappearance? Or the second one today?”

“Fourth.”

“Hmm?”

Potter wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Today was the fourth disappearance.”

Well, that made no sense.

“The Aurors felt it was best to not report about the disappearances to the media in an attempt to not cause alarm.”

“It _is _alarming,” Draco argued. “This is why I hate the Ministry. They tell the public nothing but expect unwavering loyalty. It’s a wonder society is still functioning at all with a corrupt government.”

“I’ve never been a fan of the Ministry myself.”

“Shows you aren’t entirely a lost cause.”

Potter laughed, actually laughed, and that was something his shop had never seen.

“For what it’s worth,” Potter began, hands moving restlessly as he sat up straight, wand twirling between long fingers. “I did believe you. It’s hard to get Goblins to do anything wizards want. With nothing tangible to show them, nothing would have happened.”

Draco shrugged. It didn’t matter, he was still bitter over it.

“But with the disappearances and the weird stuff happening, they’ve warmed up to the idea of needing help.”

“Weird stuff? What kind of weird stuff?”

“It’s not just people that go missing,” Potter began, tone frustrated. “Stuff from people’s vaults are disappearing too.”

“Like?”

“Money; sickles and knuts. Statues, family heirlooms, swords, busts, and many other things. At first, we thought it was theft, but it’s too many vaults to fit that, and the things taken fit no pattern.”

“Yes, they do.”

When Draco didn’t expand on that, Potter gestured towards him impatiently.

“Sickles are silver. Knuts are bronze. Statues and busts can be made of either metal. A lot of older swords were made out of bronze, and many heirlooms are made of silver.”

Potter didn’t react other than a pursing of his lips, and Draco was once again let down.

“I don’t have to ask you if galleons were taken, I don’t have to ask if items made out of gold are still in the vaults. Philosopher’s Stones transmute other metals into gold. Wherever the stone is, I’m sure there will be a massive pile of gold with it.”

“That’s the thing,” Potter rubbed the back of his head. “We can’t find the stone.”

Silence. It was so quiet that Draco could hear Crooks’ awful laugh through the thin walls.

_“Pardon?”_

Potter’s face was flushed, and he still wouldn’t meet Draco’s eyes.

“After the first disappearance, I went to the vault it was placed in, but it was gone. Only the Goblins and I knew where it was.”

“It wasn’t stolen,” Draco scoffed. “The fact that more disappearances happened after is proof of that.”

“Then where is it?”

Draco bit his lip as his mind raced. “Life Magic is complicated,” he mumbled to himself. “Independent magic has a will of its own.”

“What does that mean?”

“Shut up, I’m not talking to you.” He needed silence to think.

“The parameters were set before the spells were ever used, and despite free will, Life Magic can’t ignore its original purpose.”

His fingers tapped against his knee as his mind cycled through thoughts that ended up in dead ends.

“The first disappearance, how close was the stone to the Goblin?”

“We have inspection vaults that are kept far away from customer vaults. Only a few Goblins have regular access to the inspection vaults. When something is deemed valuable, the item then goes into a bigger inventory vault that the rest of the Goblins have access to.”

“Was there supposed to be a point in there somewhere?”

Potter glared at him, but Draco was too focused to care.

“The stone was held in an inspection vault. The Goblin that went missing is the vault manager.”

Pieces of thoughts that felt like loose threads began to merge, and Draco knew he was onto something.

“The second disappearance, how far away was it from the inspection vaults?”

Potter’s head tilted to the side a few times back and forth. “At least 80 kilometres.”

“What the fuck? How massive is Gringotts?’

A warm chuckle reverberated around the room, and it was another first for his shop.

“Honestly? I’m not sure. There’s so much I don’t have access to. Sometimes, I think it’s never-ending.”

“Why is the distance between them so vast?”

“The inspection vaults are a part of a mining system set up for Goblin use only. It’s to ensure that customers will never accidentally find it.”

“So the second disappearance happened where?”

“The normal vaults,” Potter said slowly. “Right underneath the front lobby like the other popular ones.”

“Where people are,” Draco said pointedly, and when Potter’s eyes closed, he knew he understood.

“The stone is moving on its own. It’s trying to find life to take.”

“Yes. Like I _told _you it would.”

“I don’t think now is the time for that.”

“Oh ho!” Draco argued. “I think now is a perfect time.”

“You’re such an arse.”

“I’d be offended, but I find that it’s one of my better qualities.”

Potter’s lips twitched, and Draco wished they wouldn’t.

“Now that we know the what, all we need is the how. How do we stop it?”

Draco’s nose wrinkled, and he crossed his arms. “What’s with this ‘we’ shit?”

“You’re the one that came to me! What do you mean?”

“And you threw me out!”

Potter scoffed. “That’s a bit dramatic. You left on your own.”

“Does the distinction matter?”

“Yes.”

“Merlin, you are stubborn.”

“I find that it’s one of my better qualities,” Potter parroted back with a small smile.

Draco had to take a deep breath for Potter’s safety. _In and out._ He could restrain the urges to strangle him.

“I don’t do things out of the kindness of my heart. I was willing to help you back then.”

“But not now?” Potter looked disgusted, and at least that was familiar.

“I’ll help you, but only if I get something out of it.”

“That’s despicable.”

Draco shrugged. “Not my problem you and the Goblins refused my help when I offered.”

“Kindness shouldn’t have a shelf life.”

“Who the fuck said I was ever kind?”

“Fine,” Potter growled. “What is it you want?”

“First thing about negotiations is to see what the other person is willing to part with. You tell the Goblins what I said, and we’ll see if I like what they offer.”

“They aren’t going to like this.”

“I don’t care.”

When Potter didn’t get up, Draco waited a few more minutes for him to leave.

“Do I have to kick you out or...?”

Potter huffed, and it looked like he was struggling with something. “I tried to trace the stone, but I can’t detect any Dark Magic.”

Oh. Was that it?

“I’m not sure how many different ways I have to say this,” Draco squinted at him. “But you can’t look for what you don’t know.”

“But—”

Draco held out his hand and watched as Potter eyed it dubiously. “Give me your hand.”

It took far longer than it should have before callused fingers were placed on his, and he tried not to take offence.

Draco slowly placed Potter’s hand on top of the runes.

“Tell me, do you feel Dark Magic?”

Potter’s tongue swiped along his bottom lip and fuck would he _stop _being distracting?

“No.”

“I do.”

The deadpan expression he got in return amused him enough to smile, and Potter’s eyes narrowed in on that. Draco didn’t have time to unpack _that_.

“What _do _you feel?” Draco asked.

Potter closed his eyes in what Draco assumed was a look of concentration, but he honestly looked like a prat.

“It kind of tingles? Like little vibrations.” Potter’s hand moved to the next rune. “Yeah, it’s almost like the runes are moving.”

“There you go. That’s a residue of Dark Magic.”

Potter’s eyes snapped open. “I don’t understand.”

“Dark Magic changes what it comes in contact with. If I were to remove the runes—which I will later—the wood will never be the same. It might look and feel the same, but at its core, the wood is different.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Depends on what Dark Magic is used on,” Draco said. “If I had done the runes on a living tree, the tree could decay or possibly even grow more. Dark Magic is unpredictable in what exactly it warps. My floor though, I think it’ll decay over time, but I knew that going into it. I could be wrong, but that’s not a common happenstance.”

“Are you always so full of yourself?”

“When I have reason to be,” Draco said, and he hated that he liked the way Potter’s eyes twinkled.

“What about—” Potter’s free hand clenched in his lap. “What about if it’s used on people? What happens to them?”

Draco sucked in a sharp breath. He didn’t have to be smart to understand what wasn’t said.

“That’s hard to know. There are so many levels of Dark Magic, and not all residue is the same.” He tried to sound comforting and vague, but Potter wasn’t having it.

“The kind that Voldemort would use.”

“When the Dark Lord died, did you feel any different?”

“No.”

Draco patted the back of Potter’s hand in what he hoped was a kind gesture. Nice was a foreign concept.

“Then you already know the answer.”

A small spark left Potter’s wand and it narrowly missed Draco’s arm. _The fuck?_ The one time he was nice, and Potter tried to maim him.

“So I’m corrupted?”

“No,” Draco’s hands raised placatingly. “I didn’t say that. The Dark Lord’s magic touched you, I don’t mean physically, although I’m sure that happened too. His magic at some point was inside of you. I don’t want to know how or why, but it was.”

“How do you know that?” The suspicion was back, but Draco didn’t mind. 

“I can feel it,” Draco whispered, hand still on top of Potter’s. “Dark Magic always leaves a trace, and I’m familiar with how his felt.”

“Are you saying his magic is still inside me?” Potter looked stricken and a few seconds away from being sick.

“No. Will you quit putting words in my mouth?”

Contrite was a weird look on Potter, but it was enough to soothe his ire.

“The trace of his magic is there, but there isn’t actually any magic left behind. We already know Dark Magic corrupts things it comes in contact with. Humans and magical cores aren’t something that is easily corrupted. I can’t say for certain, but my guess is that there is a small piece of you—the piece that was touched by the Dark Lord—that will always remain a small stain inside of you. It won’t affect anything nor will it change who you are, but it will always be there.”

When Potter still looked stricken, Draco lifted his sleeve and showed Potter his arm.

“My stain is exponentially larger than yours. Mine isn’t just inside me, it’s also visible. Just as yours won’t ever go away, neither will mine.”

“What’s the difference between ours?”

Draco looked down at the Dark Mark. It had always been ugly, and it still was. It had faded over time, but still easily recognizable.

“Yours was forced upon you, mine was willing. I _let _him mark me. I allowed his magic entry. If either one of us was to ever be corrupted, it would be me. Always me.”

When Draco glanced up, Potter’s eyes were staring at his mark. Before he could pull the sleeve back down, a strong hand gripped his wrist.

“Can I?” Potter nodded towards his arm, and Draco held it out further.

The touch of Potter’s fingers was cold, not physically but his magic was _cold_. The biggest indicator of a Light Wizard.

“I can feel it,” Potter whispered, eyes wide. “The Dark Magic. It’s _moving_.”

Draco was almost proud. Light Wizards never noticed Dark Magic the same way he could. Potter was a natural observationalist.

“Why does it feel different than the runes?”

Nope, _now _he was proud.

“One was intended to be malignant while the other one benign.”

Potter blinked a few times before he looked at the mark, mouth curling and nose wrinkling.

“Voldemort _wanted _to corrupt you?”

“In a way,” Draco agreed. “When a Death Eater joined his ranks, it was for life. Not something you get to say just kidding and leave. He wanted us to be able to feel his essence no matter what happened to him. For the rest of my life, I’ll always be able to feel his trace.”

“That sounds awful.” Potter’s fingers were slowly moving over the mark, and the contrast in their magic was almost soothing. “I don’t feel his trace in me.”

“Mine was intentional,” Draco reminded him. “Intent is a property of Dark Magic. I sought it out, so the residue is stronger.”

“Some mistakes shouldn’t be punished forever.”

“This one does.” It was very Potter-like to see the situation differently. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Potter looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. As he removed his fingers, Draco already missed the cold.

“Benign,” Potter murmured as he looked at the runes. “Your magic _was _benign, wasn’t it?”

“Don’t act all surprised,” Draco said before he pulled his sleeve back down. “I told you, Dark Magic is not a synonym of bad.”

“I’m beginning to see that,” Potter said softly, eyes glancing up briefly before he stood up. “I’ll tell the Goblins your request and I’ll be back with their offer.”

Potter looked at the door, and then back down at Draco before he took a deep breath and extended his hand, helping pull him up.

“It’s a pleasure doing business with you,” Draco said, matching Potter’s same tone.

“Pleasure, huh?” The twinkle was back in his eyes, and Draco kind of wished it would go away. “I think you and I have a different take on what is pleasurable.”

_Oh. _

“Well, I’m always willing to learn something new.” Did that count as flirting? Fuck. He hoped not. One touch of Potter’s magic and he was already going mad.

A soft smile stretched Potter’s lips and _oh no_, that was a smile Draco was becoming partial to.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Draco stood there even after the door closed and Potter was gone. There was a trace of Potter’s magic on his arm, and he wondered how long it would take before it faded.

Did he want it to fade?

A glance down at his covered arm and he knew the answer to that, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

Fuck Potter and his soft smiles, twinkling pretty eyes and his damn stubbornness that was his _worst _trait.

If he repeated the mantra, would he eventually believe it?


	4. Merging Alliances

Draco half expected Potter to come back the next day, but it had been a week and no news. He wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or not. There had been another disappearance, this time an old man. Reporters caught wind of it before the Aurors could keep it hush-hush, and the resulting panic was an understatement.

Some people wondered if it meant another Dark Wizard was on the rise. It always did start with unexplained disappearances.

With no customers in the shop, Draco debated about taking a nap and closing early. Before he could decide, the door opened.

“Well, this is a surprise.”

“For you and me both.”

George Weasley stood by the door, a basket in his hands and a wary look on his face.

“Harry sent me.”

“Oh? Did the Goblins finally decide?”

Weasley frowned as he placed the basket on the counter. “Goblins? I don’t know anything about that. I was to deliver top-secret goods.”

“Top secret, huh?”

Draco pulled the basket to him and hummed curiously when all that was inside was a dozen muffins and a piece of parchment.

“Muffins are top secret?”

Weasley looked just as curious as he was, and it was enough of an incentive to pick up the parchment.

** _Malfoy,_ **

_The Goblins are considering what you said and have relayed it to their council. Not sure how much you know about Goblin politics, but the council governs their choices. I think it’s a good sign that they went to the council at all. It means they are taking you seriously. It shouldn’t be too much longer before we get an answer. I hope they decide soon, more people are disappearing, and the Ministry thinks it’s an inside job. Security has increased and Aurors are constantly roaming the bank. _

_I would have delivered this in person, but I’ve been trying to do some research on the tomb the stone was found in. I don’t think it will help, but I hate doing nothing. _

_In the meantime, please enjoy the muffins. No, it wasn’t made with pity. So don’t think this is me feeling bad for you. It wasn’t made with anything other than exhaustion and a pinch of frustration. I hope you can feel the emotions. You don’t have to eat them; I will understand if you don’t. _

_Take care, _

** _Harry Potter_ **

_P.S. I know what I said earlier, but I made the muffins myself and if you don’t eat them, I might cry and then hex you._

Draco read it twice, a small smile on his face. Potter was an idiot.

“Uh oh.”

He glanced at Weasley to see him looking between the basket and Draco, a weird smile on his face.

“Pardon?”

“It’s nothing.”

Didn’t sound like nothing.

“Potter says he made these.”

Weasley’s brows rose. “Did he?”

“Is he a good cook?”

“I wouldn’t know. He never cooks, it’s not something he talks about either.”

That, Draco could understand. It was also the only reason he pinched off a piece and ate it.

“Is it any good?”

A small laugh left him, and he had to place the muffin on the counter. “I think he confused salt and sugar.”

Weasley winced and his nose wrinkled when Draco took another bite. “You’re still going to eat it?”

“It’s food, isn’t it?” A little salt never hurt anyone.

The look Weasley gave him was calculating, and Draco was reminded of their Hogwarts years. He had always thought the twins should have been in Slytherin. They certainly saw more than they had ever let on.

“I’ve been meaning to come in here.”

That caused Draco to narrow his eyes and put the muffin back down, watching the way Weasley shifted nervously.

“Diagon Alley would’ve made more sense,” Draco mused. “Your shop is right next door to a bookstore.”

“They don’t have what I need.”

Against his better judgment, Draco asked, “And what exactly are you looking for?”

“A book on talking to the dead.”

Draco’s eyes closed, and he wished someone else had been the one to deliver the muffins.

“Weasley—”

“Don’t tell me you don’t have one.” His eyes were pleading and so sad. If Draco had a heart, it would have hurt to see.

“You’re right,” Draco held out his hand, palm up, and a book zoomed into it. “I do have one.”

When a freckled hand reached out to grab it, Draco pulled back.

“I can’t give you this.”

_“Why?”_ The sadness had been replaced with anger, but that was okay, he knew it was the grief talking.

“Aside from the fact that you don’t have the skill to pull it off, or that you know nothing about casting such a thing. Talking to the dead isn’t just Dark Magic, it’s disturbing a balance. One that is very hard to put back correctly.”

“I’m not sure I’m following.”

“When talking to the dead, for a brief minuscule moment, a piece of that person is in the present. That piece isn’t quite alive but it’s not dead either. It’s something that shouldn’t exist, and the existence alone disturbs the balance.”

“And what’s the balance?” Weasley asked, forehead wrinkled as his foot moved restlessly.

“Life,” Draco said. “You can’t bring something forward without leaving something in its place. If a piece of the dead comes back, then a piece of the living has to be traded in return.”

“And you? Do you have the skill to pull it off?”

“I don’t think you’d be here if I didn’t.”

Weasley looked at his feet, and Draco could see that his shoulders were shaking.

“We both know you aren’t going to ask me to do it,” Draco said, voice as kind as he could make it. “We both know I’d have said no anyway.”

Weasley nodded and his shoulders slumped. “I know it sounds like I haven’t moved on; I have. At least the best that I can. But there’s something _off_, a weird feeling that I can’t shake, and I just think that if I could talk to him then I might understand.”

“I may not be able to help you with what you wanted, but I can sell you this.” The book was replaced with a new one.

“Your magical core won’t ever be able to handle Dark Magic, but that doesn’t mean the philosophy can’t be taught.”

“Uhh,” Weasley grimaced as he glanced at the book. “I’m not into Dark Magic.”

Draco rolled his eyes. Honestly, were all Light Wizards the same?

“George, can I call you George?”

“No.”

“Good, so George,” Draco began, lips twitching when George smiled. “One of the things Dark Magic teaches us is the ability to see things in a new light. It challenges us to become impartial to our emotions and allows observation without bias.”

“Meaning?”

“I want you to view your grief as an outsider would. I want you to see what your grief has done to your magic.”

“My magic?” George narrowed his eyes, and there was the suspicion again.

“Did you know that twins aren’t very common when it comes to wizards?”

“Yeah, I _am _a pureblood after all. I’m not stupid.”

Draco ignored that. “Did you know that sometimes twins are born with their magical cores intertwined?”

“Sort of? I’ve heard the stories but never really looked into it.”

“When you lost your brother, you didn’t just lose a sibling. You lost part of your magical core, the part that was intertwined with him.”

“What makes you say that?” George asked. “What makes you so sure?”

“I can feel it.” The look he received let him know that that wasn’t enough. “Dark Magic, George. If done correctly and in healthy amounts, we can see things others don’t notice. I told you, it gives us the ability to see things in a new light.” 

“And you can see my core?” His tone was doubtful, so were his eyes.

“Yes and no. It’s the energy you release, I can read it. It’s not something easily explained. The book will help you better than I can.”

George bit his lip as he hesitantly picked up the book. “You really think it’ll help?”

“While _you _may have grieved, your magic hasn’t. Your magic feels incomplete. Until you can acknowledge that for yourself, and learn to live without it, that weird feeling is never going to go away. You need to learn how to look at yourself objectively, and this book will help.”

“Okay,” George took a deep breath. “I’ll give it a shot.”

Before Draco could ring him up, far too many galleons were placed in his hand. If it had been a different situation, he wouldn’t have said anything but….

“This is too much money.”

“Keep it.”

Draco narrowed his eyes, hand clenching around the galleons. “Did Potter talk to you?”

“No,” George shook his head. “He didn’t have to.”

“George, I don’t want—”

“You stopped me from doing something foolish,” George whispered. “Let me thank you.”

“Words can be gratitude too,” Draco argued.

“If you really can’t accept it, then think of it as a down payment for the next book I buy.”

Draco didn’t know what to say. His eyes stung, and wasn’t that just a joke?

“Thank you,” George said before he turned to leave. “Oh, take care of Harry, will you?”

“Potter?” Draco scoffed. “I’m not his babysitter. He can take care of himself.”

George grinned over his shoulder, hand on the knob. “I think it’s time you take your own advice and look at things objectively.”

“Fuck off.”

Laughter was all he heard before the door shut and he was left with silence. He had always been used to it, even as a kid in a Manor that was only filled with silence.

As he put the galleons in the till, part of him wondered what noise would sound like? A fleeting thought whispered that it would probably sound a lot like Potter.

* * *

The closed sign had been put up, but Draco didn’t lock the door; it was only a small break anyway. In hindsight, that was a mistake.

He wasn’t too far deep into the trial to not realize that someone else was in the room, but he couldn’t stop. There was no stopping once it was started.

His eyes were closed, and hands outstretched, palms up in the hopes that any excess energy would be directed away from him. Trials used to be his favourite; they were so easy. At least they were when he was younger.

No. Everything in his body was saying no, his magic included. The images projected in his mind were distorted and moving too fast. The trial was rapidly ending when it shouldn’t have. He was failing.

When his eyes sprang open, he could see that he was falling, and that shouldn’t have happened. He was supposed to be mid-air. Fuck. He tried to brace himself, but it was too rapid, and he landed on his ankle wrong and it toppled him over.

“Fuck.”

Failure. He hadn’t failed a trial since his first attempt. The pain in his foot was throbbing, but it was nothing compared to the way his magic _ached _as some of it was siphoned out.

“—alfoy! Malfoy! Can you hear me?”

“Shut up,” Draco groaned as he covered his ears. Everything was too sensitive, and the yelling hurt his ears.

Cold. A cold energy touched him, and the stark contrast compared to his own magic was startling. He glanced up to see Potter kneeling in front of him with wide panicked eyes.

“Are you okay?”

“Never better.”

Potter looked seconds away from hitting him, and Draco hoped not—his body couldn’t take it.

“Can I touch you?”

Draco arched his brows. “Is now really the time for that?”

“Shut up!” And Potter really did hit him. “I meant your foot; can I touch your foot?”

Oh. Callused hands gently touched his boot before they vanished, and the gentle touches went to his already swollen ankle.

“What happened?”

“I was trying to do a trial. Clearly, I failed.”

“A trial? You mentioned that in Gringotts, but I don’t know what it is.”

“It’s like a test,” he hissed when the coldness in Potter’s magic intensified. “I have to offer part of my magic, and if I succeed, I get my magic back plus enlightening.”

“Enlightening?”

There wasn’t a wand in sight, but Draco could feel his ankle numbing as the pain receded momentarily.

“Knowledge. Helps me broaden what I see, or rather my own interpretation of my limits.”

“And if you fail?”

“I lose the magic I put into it.”

Hands stilled and Potter’s head snapped up. “What do you mean lose it?”

“Exactly as it sounds,” Draco drawled, and he wished Potter’s magic would pick up again, it had felt nice.

“You’ll never get it back?”

Draco shook his head. “I’ll gain magic in other ways throughout life, but I won’t get that specific magic back.”

“Then why do it? Why risk it?”

“Why do anything on the off chance that there might be risks involved?” Draco returned. “Trials aren’t hard if you know what you are doing. The risk is minimal.”

“I find it hard to believe that you didn’t know what you were doing.”

“A flatterer you are.” Draco batted his eyelashes, and it was fascinating to see a flush spread on Potter’s cheeks.

“I think I needed all of my magic, and since part of it is hibernating, the trial failed.”

“So you lost even more magic.”

“Well, that’s life sometimes.”

The dubious look Potter gave him made it hard to resist the urge to smile.

“Why were you levitating?”

“When you do a trial, energy cycles throughout the body, and since it’s not your own, there has to be a way for it to leave. If I can keep my palms up, then the chance of energy leaving through the feet is slim. On the off chance that energy doesn’t leave through my palms, I need space below my feet or else the energy bounces back, and that can lead to deadly consequences.”

Draco could tell that Potter didn’t really get it. 

“It’s easier to show you than tell you.”

“No,” Potter’s grip briefly tightened, and Draco cried out, pain throbbing intensely.

“Oh shit,” Potter whispered before the magic returned and the pain once again receded. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I’m used to pain.”

Potter’s face shuttered, and it was almost sad how easily his emotions were on display. Draco wished Potter didn’t care. Caring complicated things.

“I just didn’t want you to show me,” Potter whispered, regret in his voice and on his face. “I didn’t want you to get hurt again.”

Draco pulled his foot away from Potter’s hands and sat up straighter.

“Give me your hands.”

It should have been weird at how easily Potter complied, but for some reason, a fondness filled him. It must have been the pain talking.

Draco placed one of Potter’s hands on his foot.

“I want you to place the other one a few inches above my palm, don’t touch it, just hover over it.”

There was a frown on Potter’s face, but he did as Draco asked.

“Good. Now I want you to push a surge of your magic into me.”

“What—”

“Just do it.”

The cold burst of energy took his breath away. Draco’s eyes closed as he felt the magic move throughout his body and ended up at his palm.

“Get ready,” whispered Draco, and he forced his eyes open, wanting to see Potter’s face.

Potter’s eyes widened when the magic was pushed back inside of him. 

“That was mine?”

“It sure was.” And he couldn’t help but laugh when Potter’s eyes lit up. Teaching Potter was thrilling but dangerous—he could become addicted.

“Can we do it again?”

When Draco placed his hand back up, Potter shook his head.

“I want to feel it the other way. I want you to put your magic in me.”

Draco sucked in a sharp breath. “Are you sure? My magic isn’t like yours, Potter. It’s dark.”

Potter regarded him softly, far softer than he deserved. “Dark doesn’t mean bad.”

The way his heart positively melted proved how traitorous emotions really were.

Potter guided Draco’s hand to his arm before stretching his free hand out, palm up.

“It’s going to feel weird,” Draco warned. “Don’t panic otherwise the energy might not all exit, and you _need _it to.”

“Quit stalling.”

Rude, but he wasn’t wrong. Draco _had _been stalling.

With bated breath, Draco slowly pushed a small surge of his magic into Potter’s arm.

A loud gasp caused him to look up. Potter’s face was awed.

“So warm,” Potter whispered, and a breathy laugh filled with wonder caused Draco to smile. Had he ever looked at magic the same way?

When Draco felt the magic re-enter his body, he relaxed, hand leaving Potter’s arm.

“It’s weird, I can tell it was dark.” Potter shook his head. A wide, goofy grin on his face. “It left tingles, just like the runes!”

Draco didn’t say anything, preferred to watch the enjoyment on his face instead.

“How long will I be able to feel you?” Another flush to Potter’s cheeks had him wondering what it would feel like. Would the warmth of the flush match the intensity of his own magic?

“Depends,” Draco shrugged. “The trace of my magic will fade. It’ll definitely be gone by tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.” Potter’s eyes fell to his lap, and Draco felt like he was missing something. “That’s actually why I came here.”

“Oh? You mean you didn’t come to get another lesson in Dark Magic?”

Potter smiled, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes. “The Goblins have an offer for you.”

Draco leaned forward as Potter’s voice lessened in volume.

“If you can successfully help me find the stone and remove it from Gringotts, they will allow you access to the smallest Malfoy vault.”

_What?_

“But the Ministry took possession of them.”

“The Goblins don’t really care what they think. The Ministry won’t realize a single thing.”

Draco tried to remember which vault was the smallest. His father had dozens. “I think that was money my father set aside for his lawyers.” Not that it did him any good, he was rotting in Azkaban.

“120 thousand galleons.”

He almost keeled over. He had gone so many years with nothing but a few spare galleons from a rare customer.

“The money will be given to you spread out over 50 years at 50 galleons a week”

Draco snorted. The Goblins _would _put in stipulations out of spite. But 50 galleons a week was more than he had now. Part of him wanted to ask for more, but knowing Goblins, they would give him less.

“Alright. I’ll do it.”

“Thank you.” Potter’s expression didn’t look like gratitude.

“Do you not want my help?” Draco asked. “You don’t really look pleased.”

“It’s not that,” Potter’s hands intertwined. “Everything is going to change after tomorrow, and I’m not sure I’m ready for it to go back to how it was before.” 

“Is that your way of saying you’ll miss me?”

When Potter shoved him but purposefully avoided his ankle, Draco felt his stupid emotions again.

“I don’t know what will happen,” Draco said. “Change is inevitable, and it’s foolish to try and stop it.”

“I know.”

“But we still have today.”

Potter glanced up, and there was _something _there, but Draco wasn’t very skilled in useless emotions and even worse at detecting them.

“And what will we do today?”

This time, when Draco leaned forward, it had nothing to do with hearing Potter better.

“Whatever you want to.” Up close, there were specs of brown in Potter’s eyes, and it was distracting.

“What if I want you?” Potter asked, mouth inches from his own. “What if I want you before things change?”

“Just for tonight?” He could do a night, that wasn’t hard. One night was enough to fuel all future lonely nights without complicating things.

Potter looked away, and Draco knew that one night wasn’t enough for him, but Draco wasn’t sure he was willing to offer more.

“Yes.”

Draco moved closer, closing the limited space between them even more.

“We should probably talk about the plan.” Potter’s words were nearly pressed against Draco’s lips and only certain words pushed their lips to touch.

“That’s for tomorrow.” Draco made sure it was mumbled against Potter’s lips. It wasn’t a kiss, but it already felt like too much. “Let’s focus on tonight.”

Potter said nothing, but he pulled away enough to run his tongue along Draco’s bottom lip. That was the kind of silence Draco could get used to.

“You know what pissed me off the most when you came into Gringotts?” Potter said in between barely felt kisses, mere pecks, and Draco wanted _more. _

“Tell me.” Draco tried to deepen the kiss, but Potter moved till his mouth was on Draco’s cheeks, nose, and then back to his mouth.

“How good you looked.”

Draco leaned away; brows furrowed. “You were upset over my looks?”

“A lot of people look drastically different from when they were younger, but you looked like I remembered. Sure, you’ve aged, and I can see the differences, but it’s still so familiar.”

“I’m waiting for the point.” Before Draco could arch his brows, he felt Potter tickle his sides and he tried not to laugh.

“I hated you in school, hated everything about you, even your looks. So why is it that all I could think about when I first saw you was how good you looked?”

There was more than just curiosity in Potter’s eyes, and it was so pretty to see.

“Maybe you grew up.” Draco slid fingers in Potter’s hair and gripped tightly before forcing his head back.

“Or maybe,” Draco mumbled against Potter’s neck. “You allowed yourself to see me beyond your hatred.”

“I don’t think that’s it.” Potter gasped when Draco lightly sucked. “I hated you then too.”

“Not very nice of you.”

“Do you care?” Hands were wrapped around him, and Draco could feel the coldness he’d come to like, it was just out of reach and he wanted it closer.

“Nah, I hated you too.”

When Draco’s mouth trailed up to Potter’s ear and nipped it, he could feel a full-body shiver against him. Sensitive, he liked that.

“Even in school?”

“Merlin, yes,” Draco said, tone lower-pitched, watching the way green eyes closed. “Perhaps at times jealous, but that only fuelled the hatred.”

“Some—” Potter gasped when bit his earlobe again. “Some people say love and hate go hand in hand.”

“Those people were probably scorned and wanted an excuse.”

Draco didn’t want a reply, not when their mouths could’ve done something better. He trailed open-mouthed kisses back up to Potter’s face and pressed their lips together.

Some kind of noise left Potter. A moan? Groan? Draco wasn’t sure, but he wanted to hear it again. So he deepened the kiss. It wasn’t until their tongues touched that he did.

_Fuck. _

Potter was addicting, and they hadn’t done anything but kiss.

“I’m open to floor sex,” Draco panted against Potter’s lips. “But perhaps not when my foot is like this.”

“Do you have somewhere—”

“Upstairs.” Draco waved a hand towards the door, and the sound of it locking was loud. “You might need to carry me.”

Potter didn’t even question it, just picked him up as if he was weightless.

“Fuck.” That shouldn’t be hot. Draco wrapped his arms around Potter’s neck and hated that he was comfy. 

“You didn’t think Curse-Breakers just waved their wand all day, did you?”

“Kind of.”

A slap to his arse was startling, but a moan slipped out on instinct. He hoped it was quiet enough that Potter hadn’t noticed, but that was in vain. Potter stilled, one foot on the bottom step.

“Well—”

“Shut up.”

Hearing Potter laugh had been one thing, but to feel it was another.

“Let’s pretend that my flat is the epitome of regal, okay? Flat is generous for my place.”

“Malfoy, I don’t care what it looks like. It doesn’t reflect you; you know?”

The sentiment was nice, but that was usually said by people who already had a lot. He wasn’t embarrassed, never had been, not when his situation was out of his control. Warning Potter was the least he could do.

“Besides, you should see my first bedroom.”

“Oh? Was it horrible too?” Draco asked as Potter pushed open the door. He didn’t want to look, didn’t want to see what was already there.

He didn’t have to look around to see the broken love seat that had been repaired too many times to hold up, the rundown kitchen devoid of anything of sustenance. The paintings of the deceased owner he got the place from that wouldn’t come down, and the bed smack down in the middle of the room to know it was there.

“Cupboard under the stairs.”

Taking the piss wasn’t really something Potter did with him—not that he was funny to begin with—so Draco took it at face value.

_Oh. _The way his heart plummeted had to count as caring, didn’t it? Did he care? He tried to imagine a little Potter sleeping under the stairs, and it was hard to picture. Why? Why would someone do that to a child?

“Never did like Muggles.”

The laugh returned, and he kind of wanted it to stay.

Potter placed him on the bed, head resting on a pillow before he covered him with his body, hands on either side of Draco’s head bracing the majority of the weight.

“Why tell me?” Draco couldn’t help but ask. He might not be embarrassed, but perhaps Potter was. Sharing shitty circumstances wasn’t his idea of foreplay.

“Because you _understand_,” Potter whispered, eyes travelling over his face. “Hogwarts you wouldn’t have.”

“No,” he agreed. “Hogwarts me was naive enough to think bad things only happened to other people. I wouldn’t have understood you at all.”

“That’s growth.”

Draco wished the growth could have happened without the loss of everything he knew. But maybe it had to, maybe anything short of that wouldn’t have worked.

“Besides,” Potter said, a quick glance around the room. “Your place reminds me of you.”

“I think I’m offended.”

Potter grinned, and he wanted to trace the smile with his fingers.

“I just mean that despite all of this, it’s still here, it’s still standing. Just like you are.”

It was fascinating. Potter didn’t know Dark Magic, but yet he still saw the world differently. Draco wanted to know what else he saw, wanted to know what the world looked like through his eyes. Would it be just as beautiful, just as scary?

“You’re too nice.”

“I try.”

“Wasn’t a compliment.”

When Potter’s smile widened, it scrunched up his nose. It was unfair, unfair that someone could look like that.

“How do you want me?”

Fuck. That certainly was something he’d replay over and over again when alone.

“I really want to fuck you, but I don’t think my foot is going to let me.” It wasn’t a terrible pain, and he’d probably be fine with some potions or spells in the morning, but he didn’t want to make it worse.

Potter leaned down, his smile melting into something softer, and his were twinkling again. “I could always ride you.”

Oh, no. _That _was what he’d replay over and over.

“All you have to do is lay there and take it.”

Words were a foreign concept, and all he could do was stare.

“Can you do that for me?” Potter whispered, face coming closer. “Can you take it as good as I’ll take your cock?”

“Fuck.” It came out as a whimper, and he never thought smug would look so good on Potter.

Potter positioned himself, knees on either side of Draco’s waist before he unbuttoned his robes. The sight of more clothes had Draco taking another glance.

“You wear clothes under your robes?”

A splutter left Potter as he stilled, shirt halfway off his head.

“You mean to tell me you are naked under yours?”

It seemed Potter was waiting for a response, still immobile. The sight was ridiculous. Draco pulled the shirt too hard and it knocked Potter’s glasses half off, one side still in place.

“You’ve never slept with a traditional pureblood, have you?”

“_All _snooty purebloods don’t wear anything under their robes?”

“Yes, even my father.”

“I didn’t need to know that.”

“Fudge too.”

“Okay!” Potter placed a hand over Draco’s mouth. “Enough of that.”

Draco hoped Potter couldn’t feel the smile against his palm, but the softness to his face said otherwise.

As soon as the hand was gone, Draco said, “Take off your trousers.”

“I’m only listening to you because I want to.”

Draco arched his brows letting silence speak for him.

“The last time I listen to you too,” Potter continued, hands pulling them down and _trying _to get them off. There was very little finesse, and Draco was pretty sure it shouldn’t have been such a struggle to get them past his feet. “What happens after is my say so.”

“Is that so?” His eyes narrowed as his hands went to his own cloak. Draco could have vanished it, but if Potter did his manually, then he would too.

Getting the robe open was easy but getting off of it with Potter on him was impossible, so he didn’t try.

Potter’s eyes moved over his body, pausing at the scars on his chest. There was a lot to unpack as several emotions flickered across Potter’s face. 

“I don’t think current me understands what Hogwarts me was thinking,” Potter mumbled, fingers tracing one of the harsher scars.

“Hogwarts me did.”

And he had. Even bleeding out on the ground, Draco understood.

When Potter looked ready to argue, he shook his head. Rehashing their past was morbid and he’d rather focus on the warmth of the body on top of him.

“Can I touch you?” Draco asked, hands itching to roam defined abs. Curse-Breaking sure did more than waving a wand.

“On one condition.” Potter grabbed his hand and placed it inches away. “Don’t tease me. I don’t like it. I’ll leave you with a hard dick and nothing but your hand.”

“Alright,” he agreed, and only then was his hand allowed to touch. “If you want to tease me you can.”

Potter closed his eyes when his nipples were lightly pinched. “I’d tease you a different time. One where I’d take my time, leave you wanting and aching for something, anything.”

Draco’s breath caught, and it was so easy to imagine, too easy. “And if I was good and waited, then what?”

“You’d get my cock,” Potter hissed as nails raked down his chest and past his stomach. He wasn’t fully hard, and Draco wanted to rectify that immediately.

“You’d fuck me?” Draco asked before wrapping a hand around Potter's cock, revelling in the groan that was released.

“Mhm,” his nodded repeatedly and too fast. “But you only want tonight.”

The challenge in his tone was obvious, and when it came to Potter, he always did like a challenge.

“Maybe I was too hasty.” Draco handed him a jar of homemade lube that he kept under the pillow.

Huffs of laughter that were half moans was his response, and it did something to Draco. Everything about Potter did something to him._ It wasn’t fair. _

“Oh no,” argued Potter as he unstoppered it. “You wanted me for one night, singular.”

“You recanting on anything plural?”

“Can you recant what was never said?”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “You implied.”

There was a smile on Potter’s lips as lube covered fingers reached behind him. Draco wanted to see.

“Maybe you just inferred.”

“I don’t like you.”

More laughter—such a stark difference from his past partners. Laughter, smiles, and flirting had never been a part of sex and now that he had it, Draco couldn’t help but feel cheated.

When Potter groaned, he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Turn around. I want to see.”

Potter’s hand stilled, and he arched his brows. “What did I say?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Can you please turn around? If you so desire.”

“No.”

Lips lifted into a wicked smile, and Draco marvelled at the dichotomy to him.

“I’m going to keep fingering myself because I like how it feels, you’re going to remain wishing you could see, and then I’ll blow you.”

Draco shook his head. “I don’t like blow jobs.”

Once again, Potter stilled only this time it was accompanied with a wrinkled forehead. “Pardon?”

“The sensations are too much,” Draco shrugged. “It’s not for me. I don’t mind sucking you off, but I don’t want it reciprocated.”

“Okay,” Potter said softly, and his hand began to move again. “I only want what you are comfortable with.”

That shouldn’t have been heart-warming, but it was, and Draco didn’t know what to do with it.

“Your fingers are longer than mine,” Potter said. “I wonder how different they would feel inside me.”

“Oh, that’s not fair,” Draco argued. “You just want to torture me.”

“Maybe.” The wicked smile was back, and it was almost too much.

“I don’t think it’s thicker though.” Twinkling eyes said more than his mouth.

“Why do I feel like you’re no longer talking about fingers?” Draco asked, reluctantly amused.

Oh no, another nose scrunch. Draco couldn’t take any more of Potter doing _things_ to him.

“Malfoy—” A gasp made it sound so breathless and fuck it all that was hot. “Do you think—never mind.”

Too curious to let it go, Draco said, “Tell me.”

A shake of Potter’s head wasn’t enough to deter him. Draco moved a hand to pinch Potter's nipples again and then repeated the request.

“Tell me what you want, Potter. If I can, I’ll give it to you.”

“Whatever I want?”

Cunning. But Draco was an expert in cunning. “Within reason.”

Both of Potter’s hands rested on Draco’s chest, and their eyes locked.

“I want to feel you inside me.”

“You can.” Draco grabbed the discarded jar and lubed up his cock.

“No,” Potter shook his head. He looked frustrated and hesitant at the same time. “Not just that.”

“I can’t give you what you want if I don’t know what it is.”

“I want to feel all of you inside me.”

Draco was smart, he knew he was, but he didn’t know what the fuck Potter was trying to say.

“Less subtle and more obvious.”

Potter’s hands were tracing his scars again. “I want to feel your magic flowing through me while you’re inside me.”

Draco sucked in a sharp breath. _Fuck. _

“Are you sure? I don’t know if I have the control to not overdo it while distracted.”

“I’m sure.”

Merlin, that wasn’t smart. It really wasn’t, but why did the mere thought make him harder than he was before?

“Will you do it as well? I want to feel you too.” They’d have to take turns; it was dangerous to combine magic like that.

The shy smile was confirmation enough. Potter moved up and re-slicked Draco’s cock. He must like it wet.

Draco thought Potter would sink down quickly, it seemed to match his personality but that wasn’t what he got. Slow was the pace, very slow. It wasn’t until he looked into Potter’s eyes that he realized he was being teased.

“Tosser.”

“I like making you wait.”

He liked it too, not that he was going to _admit _it. His eyes closed the deeper he went and the urge to thrust up was strong.

“Don’t,” Potter ordered, almost like he _knew. _

It wasn’t until he was fully seated did Potter lean forward and kiss him.

“You feel better than I thought.”

“Twat.”

Draco could feel the laugh against his lips.

“I already thought you’d feel amazing.” Potter’s nose trailed along his cheek as he slowly lifted up. “But it’s nothing like I imagined.” 

Before he could say anything, Potter slammed back down, _hard, _and his mind blanked. Despite how warm and tight it was, all he could feel was Potter’s energy underneath his fingertips. He wanted the cold, wanted to _feel _it.

“It wants to come out,” Draco whispered, and Potter knew what he was talking about because he nodded, a whimper escaping.

_“Let it out.” _

The hand on Draco’s chest pushed through magic, directly on his scars, and the sensitive area amplified the feeling. He made sure to raise his palm to Potter, making sure the energy would come full circle. 

“So cold.” He couldn’t get enough of it, needed it. Stories always warned him about Dark Magic, how addicting it could be without restraint, but that was _nothing _compared to how Potter’s magic made him feel. “More.”

“No. My turn.” The pace quickened, and Potter rode him harder, gasps spilling between the both of them.

Potter sat up before leaning back, one hand on Draco’s leg for purchase as he ground down. There was nothing for Draco to hold onto except Potter’s cock.

_“Fuck.” _

When Draco pushed his magic into Potter, he was surprised to feel precome on the stroke upwards. Looks like he wasn’t the only one affected by the exchange of magic.

“Did you just—” Potter moaned, the sound alluring. “So good, so warm, so thick.”

He was pretty sure each one of those was about something different, but his mind couldn’t focus enough. 

“You were right,” Potter said, and the sound of Potter’s arse against his skin was too much, and Draco couldn’t help but thrust up. “It’s so addicting, and I don’t think I can stop.”

“Then don’t.”

“It’s not good for me,” Potter’s mouth parted when Draco gave a particularly hard thrust. “But fuck if I want you anyway.”

More magic entered Draco and his mind was hazy, clouded, and all he could feel was Potter. It was too much at once, but he didn’t want it to stop, he wanted _more_.

He lost track of whose turn it was. Something was niggling in the back of his mind, but Potter clenched around him, and everything was once again just Potter. Even his name was a mantra in Draco’s mind.

Potter. Potter.

_“Potter.” _

“I like that.”

Another clench, groans, little gasps, skin on skin, and _more _magic was enough to have him writhing. Was it supposed to be so intense? Was it supposed to be so consuming?

“Take it.”

Take what? All he could focus on was pushing through his own magic. His eyes were half-lidded, which only happened when he was drunk, but that was an accurate descriptor for how Potter’s magic felt.

Wait.

His eyes widened when he realized the flow of magic was a continuing circle and it stopped being turns. Their magic was intertwining, and at such a rate that the warm versus cold was becoming something else.

“Harder,” Potter begged.

It was hard to think past the pleasure, but he didn’t want it to stop. He gave Potter what he wanted, gave him all he could and then some.

“Yes, Malfoy, _yes_.”

“Again,” Draco panted, hand tightening around Potter’s cock, a grunt leaving him when Potter gasped. “Say my name again.”

_“Malfoy.” _

His hand increased in speed just to hear the soft cries Potter released.

“Please, I want to come with your magic in me.”

_Merlin_. Draco wasn’t sure how much longer he could go, but he did it, pushed more magic into him. It felt like everything was draining, but it was good, a good feeling.

“Oh, God.” Potter was pushing his magic in at the same time and that wasn’t a good idea, right? _Right?_ “Just a little—” A gasp. “More, a little—” A moan. “Yes, I’m going to—”

When Potter came it wasn’t with a moan or a shout or even with Draco’s name on his lips. No, when he came it was silent, mouth parted, and eyes clenched tightly. The sight was pulling Draco under, but what really did it was the way Potter’s magic increased and light exploded around them.

“Fuck.” Draco’s hips were still moving even as he came, cock buried deep. He didn’t want it to stop, wanted to feel just like that all the time.

Potter slumped forward, full-body landing on top of him. It was heavy, but Draco didn’t want him to move. Not yet.

“Is it too soon to say that I don’t think I’ll ever have sex that intense again in my life,” Potter panted, breath quick in Draco's ear and heart beating against his chest.

“No.” Draco didn’t think he would either. “I’ve never had sex that intense.”

“God, it was good.”

Draco tried to place a cleaning charm on Potter, but it wasn’t working. He was exhausted, but he didn’t think he was tired enough to not perform magic.

Potter whispered a spell as Draco’s eyes closed, and he could feel it, could feel the way it tugged.

That didn’t sound right but his eyes were so heavy. He’d figure it out in the morning. Draco knew he was seconds away from falling asleep, but he wanted to make sure Potter wasn’t going anywhere.

“Stay.”

“Wasn’t planning on leaving.”

Good. He tried to say that but wasn’t sure he succeeded. The last thing his mind registered before sleep took him, was Potter.

Just Potter.


	5. Magic Un-vaulted

The sound of someone yelling jerked Draco upright, mind still half asleep.

“What?” His mind was cycling through last night, and with each new recollection, he felt warmer. Mmm, that was good. He felt off, but that wasn’t uncommon after getting up.

_“What did you do?”_

Draco blinked rapidly as Potter came into focus. There wasn’t any marks or obvious signs that he had done anything. “I’m pretty sure we had sex, unless that was a fantasy.”

“Not that, you twat,” Potter smacked his arm. “Why can I feel your magic?”

“It’s residual, it’ll go away.”

“No, no,” Potter argued, hands gesturing wildly. “It’s not like before. I can feel your magic_ in_ mine.”

Panic seized him as the unsettling feeling from before kicked in stronger. His magical core was fine, and he could still feel his magic like normal except…there was something else.

“I can feel you.”

That wasn’t supposed to have happened. Flashes of the night before flickered across his mind, and when he realized their magic had merged several times, he covered his face with his hands.

“I _told _you it was a bad idea. I_ told_ you that I wasn’t sure the control would last.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know that _this_ would happen!” Potter spluttered as he clutched the duvet to his chest, as if Draco hadn’t seen him naked the night before.

“To be fair, I didn’t think this was a possibility either.”

“But what is it? Why can I feel you?”

Draco plopped back down, eyes on the ceiling. He wished it was all a dream, that he’d wake up again to realize the whole thing was a figment of his imagination.

“Our magic intertwined last night. At some point, we pushed our magic into each other at the same time.”

Potter poked him in the arm, hard. “Meaning?”

“It merged.”

“Well, un-merge it.”

Draco turned his head to see a scowling face. “It’s not that easy, Potter. I’m not even sure what this has become.”

“I don’t understand.” Potter’s hands began to wring the duvet. “You’re the one who’s an expert in Dark Magic!”

“Have you forgotten that you don’t have any Dark Magic? I know _my_ magic, but I have no idea what happens when you combine light and dark. You aren’t _supposed_ to be able to combine them. Magic is finicky and doesn’t always get along with other types.”

“Then why did we do it?” Potter pulled at his hair.

“You asked me to.”

A glare preceded another poke to his arm. “Don’t blame me.”

“I’m not,” Draco rolled his eyes. “Merely explaining.”

“What does this mean for us now?”

“I don’t know.” It was hard to admit. He wasn’t used to not knowing something when it came to magic, especially his own.

“Well, this is just great.”

Potter leaned over the bed to pull his wand out of a pocket before muttering a spell over himself. A cleaning charm.

Only…Draco wasn’t sure how he knew that. There had been a tug inside him when the spell had been cast, but it didn’t come from his own magic. No, it had come from Potter’s magic that was peacefully moving around with his own, even touching his core.

“I felt that,” he whispered, eyes wide and a little awed. “I felt you cast it.”

“What? It’s possible I accidentally covered you too.”

“No,” Draco shook his head. He held out his hand summoned a book.

Potter’s mouth parted, and a hand flew to his chest. “Again.”

Draco ended up summoning dozens of knick-knacks before Potter was convinced that it wasn’t a fluke.

“I thought you said Dark Magic couldn’t exist inside me.”

“No, I said you’d have to be open to the idea to be able to cast it. Dark Magic can be done to you, but that wasn’t this. You allowed it in.”

Potter’s eyes moved minutely, and he wondered if he was lost in thought or just zoning out.

“Like you let Voldemort’s magic in you? You let it mark you.”

Huh. Draco’s head tilted back and forth as he thought it over.

“The similarities are there.” He didn’t like the way Potter’s lips turned downward. “But the Dark Lord aimed to taint, he aimed to make us serve him. It held ill intent. My magic inside you is peaceful, it doesn’t want to harm you.”

“How do you know?”

“Because _I _don’t want to harm you.” 

The frown went away and was replaced with a barely-there smile. “And my magic? What’s it doing to you?”

“It’s chasing mine.” Draco closed his eyes in an attempt to focus. “I can feel it circling, touching, merging, separating, and then chasing again.”

“Why?”

“Your magic likes mine.”

Potter turned his head away, but not before Draco could see a blush. He still wanted to know how it would feel.

“Well, your magic likes mine too!”

“I know.” Draco shrugged when Potter’s head snapped towards him. “It’s because I like your magic. Are you understanding the theme?

Potter rolled his eyes as he laid down next to Draco, their hands nearly touching.

“Do you think we can fix it?”

“No idea.” He wasn’t sure what kind of consequences would arise. “It doesn’t seem to be harmful at the moment. We can always look into it later.”

“Looks like you’re stuck with me for the time being.” There was a bit of regret in Potter’s tone, but Draco wasn’t sure why.

“I could think of worse people to be stuck with.”

“Oh?” Potter turned on his side, head propped up on his palm. “What about better?”

“No.” There wasn’t anyone he’d want to be stuck with. He wasn’t sure he’d have liked anyone else's magic either.

“I can’t say I’m glad,” Draco continued as he pulled Potter on top of him, the duvet sliding down to the floor. “But I’m not mad either.”

“A true politician,” Potter murmured, lips inches away from his own. “Never give a straight answer and keep everyone guessing as to what your true intentions are.”

“You want to know what I want?” Draco arched up, rubbing his cock against Potter.

“I can guess,” Potter gasped when Draco’s hands slid down his body and settled on his arse. “We’ll be late for Gringotts.”

“So?”

When he trailed his fingers along Potter’s arse, lightly and with very little pressure, another gasp, only this time it was against his lips.

“It’s not—” Potter ground down and Draco arched again. “It’s not very polite.”

“What gave you the impression that I’m ever polite?”

“You’re right. Fuck me.”

That, Draco could do. So he did.

* * *

Walking out of his shop—with a nearly healed ankle—next to Potter caused stares, he knew it would. Mrs Crooks winked at him and gave a thumbs up—senile old bat. The stares in Knockturn Alley were _nothing_ compared to the looks he got when they entered Diagon Alley.

Merlin, he hated the place. As a kid, with money and a status, he had been welcome. Diagon Alley was full of bright colours, kind faces and so much to see that he never wanted to leave. Now, with no money and no status, he wasn’t welcome at all. The bright colours were hues of grey shrouded in illusions that came with sneers and judgment.

When one is in need, it makes them invisible to kindness. Why is it that the people who need it the most never get it? Why did caring for others come with stipulations?

“I hate people.”

“Me too,” Potter’s arms knocked against his, and it was comforting in a way. “Some say staring is human nature, but only the nosy say that.”

“I’m new to being stared at.” Draco sneered at a pointing kid who jumped and hid behind her mum. “I imagine you never get used to it.”

There used to be a time when he wanted to be stared at, wanted the attention. His parents didn’t give him that, not really; they were always busy. He had hoped people would at Hogwarts, but Greg and Vincent had been the only ones who did…at least until Potter. Draco always had Potter’s attention, a constant in his daily routine.

“Definitely not.”

As they got to the entrance of Gringotts, Draco frowned. When Potter had said security had increased, he didn’t think it meant 4 Aurors at the bottom of the stairs, 2 at the top, and 3 by the door.

“A bit overkill, don’t you think?”

“I said that too.” Potter shook his head and dragged Draco towards the entrance Granger and Weasley were manning. Great.

“Harry,” the two said at once, soft smiles on their faces despite looking exhausted.

Weasley’s smile turned into something more polite when he saw Draco. At least he wasn’t being rude.

“Wands,” Granger held out her hands. “Protocol.”

Draco dug through his robes, trying to find it.

“Uh, just a second.” More pockets and nothing but spare pieces of parchment. “I could have sworn I put it in here last month.”

“Month?” Weasley asked, tone suspicious but he ignored that, ignored him altogether.

“Maybe I left it in the till?” Draco mumbled to himself. That would explain why he hadn’t seen it; not like he had a customer any time soon.

“Why would your wand be in the till?” The question came from Granger, and he ignored her too.

“Did you see it last night?” Draco turned to Potter, ignoring the noises Granger and Weasley let out. “Maybe on the floor? The bed? The loveseat?”

“You mean your broken loveseat?” Potter teased, and Draco wanted to pinch him. So he did.

“Oi!” Potter grabbed his hands and put them over his head. “Only I get to tease, remember?”

“That doesn’t count.” Draco narrowed his eyes and tested the strength of Potter’s hold. “We’re still clothed.”

“Hermione, I think I’m going to be sick.”

Draco snorted. He certainly never missed Weasley, that’s for sure.

“You going to give me my arms back?” Draco asked, head tilted back as Potter leaned closer.

“You going to tell me why you don’t use your wand?” It was quiet, too quiet for anyone else to hear. “You don’t have to tell them.”

He arched a brow. “I don’t have to tell you either.”

“No,” Potter agreed as he placed Draco’s hands around his neck. The skin on skin contact was enough to have Potter’s magic—the bit that was inside of him—push against his core, as if it recognized just who he was touching. “I’d like you to.”

“I didn’t get jail time, but when the Ministry stripped me of my wealth, home and possessions, they also stripped my wand of its core.”

Potter’s hands wrapped around his waist, and he wondered if the magic in him recognized Draco too.

_“Why?”_

“Five-year punishment,” Draco shrugged. “Their reasoning never made sense to me, but I think they just wanted to make me feel like less of a wizard than I did at that time.”

The magic inside of him grew restless, but his own remained calm. Why was that? When he glanced up, angry green eyes were looking into his own, and Draco wondered how related Potter’s magic was to his emotions. Such a Light Magic concept.

“It’s been longer than five years,” Potter pointed out, and the magic slowly began to settle.

“I didn’t want to play their games. I wasn’t going to let them decide when and where I could use my own wand. So I gave it up. It’s not like I need it. Magic doesn’t have to require a wand to work. They’ve always been conduits.”

“You must be powerful.” The magic jerked and _oh,_ Potter liked the thought.

Not really. It was just a matter of learning magic in a different way. But Draco would let him think that. 

“What is going on?” A Goblin demanded, tone harsh as he looked at Granger and Weasley. “There is a backup, why is no one entering?”

“Sorry, we were waiting on his wand, sir.”

The Goblin sighed when he caught sight of Draco. His broken wand gave them issues when he did have it.

“Let them in.”

Granger frowned, lips pursed and hands on her hips. “Protocol says—”

_“Let them in.” _

“Okay,” Weasley held up his hands and ushered them in. As they passed the entrance, Draco could hear him say, “Don’t argue with them. Do you know what kind of magic they have? It’s dangerous to piss off a Goblin.”

“Follow me and touch nothing,” the Goblin ordered, and part of him wanted to touch shit out of spite.

Draco thought they’d go to the bank manager’s office again, but they bypassed that and headed to a section of the bank that was vacant.

“Ulnok, why are we going through the emergency entrance?” Potter asked as Ulnok’s hands touched the ground. The floor began to expand until there was a hole barely larger than a Goblin to fit.

Ulnok glared at him. “Mister Malfoy is not an employee, so he will enter however we see fit.”

“What’s wrong with the emergency entrance?” Draco didn’t trust Goblins, especially when they had their own interests in mind—which was always. 

“It’s—”

Draco never did hear what it was because Ulnok pushed him into the hole. He was not ashamed of the scream that tore out of him as the hole turned out to be a giant free falling pit. Draco tried to look down, but the speed at which he was falling was too quick.

The closer he got to the ground, the brighter it got, and it hurt his eyes. The bottom of the hole was approaching, and he braced himself for the fall, eyes clenched tightly.

An _“Oof”_ left him when he fell into an invisible barrier that stopped his fall. When he opened his eyes, another yell came out at the sight of a dozen Goblins surrounding him.

Goblins didn’t laugh, at least not like humans do. They made clicking sounds, and Draco didn’t appreciate hearing it as he collected himself and rolled off the barrier.

“I’m glad my embarrassment amuses you,” he drawled, glaring when several Goblins’ mouths widened enough for their jagged teeth to poke through.

The sound of whizzing air had him looking up to see Potter falling calmly and with a finesse that Draco certainly didn’t have on his fall. Bastard.

“You alright?”

Well, now the concern made him feel bad.

“I’m fine. Wasn’t scared at all.”

Potter’s lips twitched, and any previous guilt evaporated. He was a bastard alright.

“I trust you know what you are doing,” Ulnok said to Potter.

“For the most part.”

“That does not reassure me.”

A few Goblins inched closer to hear the conversation, but one look from Ulnok had them scrambling back to work. 

“We’ll do our best,” Draco said, hand going to Potter’s arm, and taking comfort in the way their magic pushed and pulled.

Ulnok still didn’t look reassured, but there was no pleasing Goblins, so no point in trying.

“Where to, Mr Curse-Breaker?”

“I thought we could look at the inspection vault where the stone first disappeared from.” Not a bad idea. It would give them a chance to see if there were any lingering traces of magic.

“How far is it? Draco asked when he remembered just how large Gringotts was. “I don’t fancy walking 80 kilometres.”

“We can take a cart,” Potter nodded towards a line of Goblins waiting to get into a minecart. “It’s not as fast as the ones customers take.”

“Why?”

“They like to make wizards feel uncomfortable.” The line went quickly, multiple Goblins sharing carts.

“Of course they do,” Draco said as it was their turn to get on.

With a lack of motion sickness that he would have faced had it been the customer carts, it gave him time to look around. There were several tracks crisscrossing and multiple carts zooming around. The magic behind it was hard to decipher. Did the carts know where they wanted to go? Potter hadn’t selected a certain track or mentioned anything about the destination.

“How do the carts work?”

“They won’t tell me.” There was a smile on his face, and Draco wondered if there was a story behind that.

The cart screeched to a stop, and if Potter hadn’t held onto him, he would have hit the side of the cart and possibly toppled out. Fuck Gringotts.

“We’re here.”

Oh, joy.

At first glance, the vault didn’t seem to be that much different from the customer ones. The spacing was spread out to where there were more vault doors just like the others. But it wasn’t until he looked closer that he realized the vaults were all connected, and each door was a different entrance.

“How big is the inspection vault?”

One side of Potter’s lips quirked up before he placed his hand on the door, and it opened with a loud creak.

A low whistle left Draco as he stepped inside. It reminded him of the room of requirement with how much random shit was piled inside, but on a much larger scale. The vault went on for so long that he couldn’t even see the other side.

“Why do they need so much shit in here?”

He could spend the rest of his life in the vault and not make a dent. Draco’s eyes couldn’t focus on one thing for too long; eyes roaming from golden framed paintings to gold, jewels, weapons, crowns and more.

“First lesson you learn when working for Gringotts is that Goblins are hoarders. They don’t take in anything that doesn’t benefit them, but they also keep everything else. _Everything._ You should see the inventory vaults, makes this one look microscopic.”

Draco had a hard time believing there were bigger vaults, but he’d take Potter’s word for it. As he looked around the vault, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to detect anything.

“They kept the stone over here.” Potter led him to a section that was devoid of anything in a wide circle around an empty pedestal. Had the Goblins cleared out the area specifically for the stone? The cluster free circle looked out of place among the messy chaos around them.

The closer they got, the more Draco didn’t like it, his magic didn’t like it. He paused right before the circle began and closed his eyes.

“I don’t like this,” he whispered to himself. Dark Magic was usually comforting, it was familiar, and it was safe. But as he stood there, all he could feel was evil.

“It’s weird,” Potter said. “I can’t feel the tingles like you taught me. I don’t feel anything.”

That still didn’t make sense to Draco. How could something so vile, so evil, and so horrifying not be felt by Light wizards?

“Maybe if I—” Potter took a step forward and Draco’s eyes snapped open before he grabbed hold of the back of his robes and pulled harshly.

“Hey!” Potter jerked out Draco’s grasp. “What was that for?”

_“Don’t cross that circle.” _

Potter looked down at the circle and then back to Draco. “Why not? I don’t feel anything.”

“Just because you can’t feel it, doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

The whole thing baffled him, and he had no explanation for why Potter couldn’t feel the magic. If it was just a difference between Light and Dark Magic, then Potter_ should_ have been able to feel it now that he was aware of detecting such magic.

“Do you have money on you?”

Potter crossed his arms, and Draco was half tempted to push him in the circle anyway. “I’m not going to spend it; I’m going to destroy it.”

“Oh, is that all?” Potter sneered. “Then no.”

“If you don’t give me a galleon, I’ll take one off the ground and tell the Goblins you stole from them.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Why was Potter so frustrating? “Could you be less difficult?”

“For a price.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “You’d make a half-decent Slytherin, you know that?”

The sly smile and twinkling green eyes didn’t sit well with him. Potter knew something he didn’t, and Draco didn’t like it.

“I’ve heard that before.”

Before he could ask, Potter pulled out a galleon. “I’ll give you this if you let me cook you dinner.”

Baffled, Draco could only stare. “Why would you want to cook me dinner?”

“Does it matter?”

Not for a deal, but it mattered to his curiosity. “Why does it sound like a date?”

Potter didn’t say anything, but the twinkling of his eyes did.

“I’m not agreeing to a date, but you can cook me food.” When some of the twinkling left, Draco added, “You’ll have to make another deal later for anything else.”

Draco snatched the galleon out of his hands and threw it in the circle. Just as he thought, the coin disintegrated immediately.

“What the fuck?”

“I think if I put anything in there it would be destroyed.”

“But what is it?”

Draco bit his lip. “I’m not sure.”

There were ideas and half-baked theories that were too dangerous to test. “I _think _it destroys anything that’s not alive.”

Potter took several steps away from the circle. “What would have happened to me if I had crossed?”

“Either you’d meet the same fate as the coin,” Draco paused to gather his jumbled thoughts. “Or it could have sucked the life out of you.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not sure, though,” Draco reassured, but Potter looked uneasy. “It’s hard to know without any test subjects.”

“Yeah, that’s not happening.”

He didn’t think so.

“Can I see the other vaults? I don’t think I’ll need anything else here.”

The cart ride to the next vault passed too quickly as his mind wandered. What would the circle have done to living life? Would Potter have been okay? If he was going to test his theories, then there had to be a test subject, or else they’d never know for sure. Potter wasn’t going to like that.

“This is the next one.”

When they entered, it was hard to notice anything but the same peculiar circle as before. The vault was full of galleons, a lot of galleons. The rest of the vault was minimalistic, the only thing he could see was a few paintings and a nearly dead plant in the corner.

“Did the vault owner have this much money before they disappeared?”

“Uhh,” Potter hedged, looking around the room before he backed out. Curious, Draco went with him.

Potter placed a hand on a seemingly bare part of the vault. The sound the door made was similar to the sound of a till. Numbers started flashing too rapidly to comprehend before they blinked quickly and settled on a number past a hundred thousand.

“No.” Potter’s fingers moved around the edges of the numbers, and he could see numbers subtracting and dividing. Transactions, the Goblins set up a way to detect what was taken from a vault and how much.

“Before the disappearance, the vault had less than ten thousand.”

“The stone is leaving behind more than the circle.” He wondered how much of the gold by the circle in the inspection vault had been there before.

“Why?”

“Gold isn’t alive.”

His eyes went back to the plant. “But that is.”

Before Potter could stop him, Draco picked up the plant and tossed it into the circle.

“What are—”

A bright light exploded, and even as he rose a hand to block it out, he couldn’t look away, not if answers were to be had. The circle created a dome, a barrier of some kind, one where the light was trapped inside.

The plant didn’t disintegrate like the coin had. It was there in the midst of the light and then _poof,_ it was gone.

Draco stood there long after the light disappeared. His eyes were on where the plant had previously been, but he wasn’t seeing it, not really—mind too active as his surroundings blurred, and all he could think about was impossible theories and laws of theoretical magic.

“Take me to the other ones.”

Potter looked worried, but he did as Draco asked. Each vault was the same. More money than it should’ve had, a circle surrounding where the stone had once resided, and a trace of magic that disgusted him.

When the last vault had been looked at, Draco was left with a vague idea, but too many missing holes to do anything with.

“You said you found the stone, right?”

They were sitting in the cart, immobile with no destination. There was no saying where the stone would be, not if it moved constantly.

Potter nodded. “The Goblins sent me on an excavation mission. I’ve been to Egypt before. They have a trade agreement with us. Some of the findings are left behind for tourist purposes and we get the rest.”

That he knew. The trade agreement hadn’t always been there. Goblins took what they wanted and only complied to an agreement to stop Egyptian wizards from going to war with them. For someone as morally righteous as Potter, it was a wonder he worked for Gringotts.

“Some of the local wizards were suggesting places to go and mentioned a few pyramids that were off-limits due to dangers.”

“Let me guess,” Draco drawled. “You heard danger and made it your first priority.”

Potter’s lip curled, and he made an unattractive mocking face as he silently mimicked him, which only proved Draco’s point.

“We ended up going to one of the pyramids—” He glared when Draco snorted. “It was empty as most are. Grave robbers—Muggle and Magical alike—had already wiped the place. But a lot of the time, there are secret passages hidden behind magic. I felt something weird, and it led me to one of those passages. Ended up finding an untouched burial tomb that—”

“Wait.” He ignored the glare Potter sent him for interrupting. “Weird how?”

“I couldn’t feel the stone, still can’t even when it's in front of me. The weird feeling was protection spells surrounding a sarcophagus. They weren’t of the time period the pyramid would have been built.”

Sarcophagus. It gave him the willies just thinking about opening a coffin. Curse-Breaking was not for him. 

“I get that, but you haven’t told me _how_ it felt. What was weird about it besides it being the wrong time period?”

Potter’s lips pursed and one eye closed in what Draco assumed was his deep thinking face.

“It was calling to me.”

_What?_ Draco stilled, a hand clenching around the side of the cart.

“I don’t know how to explain it.” Potter tapped a finger against his lips. “My magic was being tugged on, if that makes sense. Like when a stranger taps on your shoulder to get your attention. I was being called, so I followed it.”

What a moron. “You should never listen to someone else’s magic, especially in a bloody pyramid where booby traps are around every corner.”

Potter rolled his eyes. “I know how to do my job.”

“And yet, here we are.”

There wasn’t a response other than a petulant crossing of Potter’s arms. As much as he half liked Potter, he couldn’t deny that they wouldn’t be in this mess if the magic had been ignored.

“It kind of reminded me of the pull a Horcrux has.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Draco had a hard time comprehending the knowledge that Potter knew what one was, let alone how it felt to be around it.

“It’s not the same,” Potter continued, a small frown in place. “I always thought I could feel his Horcruxes so strongly because of the connection, but the pull of that magic was so similar.”

“Are you telling me the Dark Lord had Horcruxes?” Despite him being dead, panic welled up, and Draco felt his fight or flight reflexes kicking in. The latter predominantly stronger.

Potter waved his hand as if dismissing his concerns. “That’s not important.”

“I beg to differ!”

“I don’t understand how I could feel the protection spells and not the stone itself.”

Clearly, Potter wasn’t going to answer his questions.

“It sounds like a lure,” Draco said. “I’m not sure why there would be a lure on a Horcrux as those are supposed to remain hidden. Unless it was a challenge of sorts. Keep it unattainable but also try and lure people, just so he could see them fail.”

The more he thought about it, that sounded exactly like something the Dark Lord would have done.

“You think the protection spells were the same? Lure people in?”

“It doesn’t make sense though,” Draco argued. “The stone isn’t complete. Why would the person hiding it want others to find it?”

“In the hope that someone could finish the stone for them?”

Draco sucked in a sharp breath. That wasn’t a bad idea. It was risky and stupid, though. It’s not as if the one who made it would know who would stumble across it, let alone know when that would be.

“When you found it, how did you get it out?”

“Well, there were a lot of curses besides the protection spells. Those were more typical to the time period. Curse-Breakers aren’t to touch objects unless they’ve been thoroughly vetted, so I put in a contamination void.”

When Draco’s brows furrowed and he was about to ask what the hell a contamination void was, Potter expanded.

“It’s like a pocket of space that doesn’t quite exist.”

That, Draco wanted to see. “Can I—”

“No.”

His shoulders slumped, and he gestured for Potter to keep going.

“I got it back here and you know the rest.”

“So you never actually touched it?”

“Not that one.”

Draco turned his head slowly. He couldn’t really mean— “Do explain.”

“The one Dumbledore hid in our first year, I touched that one.”

Goblin mining carts weren’t that big, but that didn’t stop Draco from trying to put as much space between the two of them as possible.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting away from you.”

Potter rolled his eyes. “Are you always so dramatic?”

“No.” Yes. “It’s just…Philosopher’s Stones are so evil. The leftover traces in the vaults are hard enough to be around, I couldn’t imagine touching one.”

“I used it too.”

_Oh hell no. _

He ignored Potter calling his name as he got out of the cart.

“Will you come back? Do you know how long ago that was?”

“I can’t believe you touched it.”

“Is a finished stone dangerous?”

“No, it’s already gone through the dangerous rituals. It’s possible the magic could wear down from over usage and would require replenishing it, but I don’t know enough about the stone outside of the creation process to say how often that would be.”

“Then I’m okay, right?”

It still bothered him. What had Dumbledore been thinking keeping a thing like that in a school? A school where children resided. If the stone had needed replenishing, what would have happened to the kids? Would they have started disappearing too? Had Dumbledore’s mission in getting rid of the Dark Lord clouded his morality? Was the risk of a few kids the price to pay for the rest of society? Did Dumbledore risk potential deaths as long as the Dark Lord died too?

Draco came back but he didn’t get in, chose to lean against the cart instead.

“Why do you think I can’t feel the stone’s magic?”

“Could you feel the completed one?”

The weird deep thinking expression made a comeback, and Draco snorted.

“Just the physical weight when I held it. There wasn’t anything magical that I could feel.”

Draco’s eyes closed as he slid down, back rested against the cart and arse on the floor. It didn’t make any sense.

“Is it possible that I couldn’t feel it because I wasn’t meant to?”

“What kind deep shit is that?”

The sound of Potter getting out of the cart could be heard, but he didn’t open his eyes until he felt a weight on his lap.

“What are you doing?”

“Sitting on you.”

“I can see that.” It was hard not to be comforted by Potter’s presence. Every time they touched, he could feel their magic connecting, could feel the way Potter’s Light Magic inside him soothed his own restless Dark Magic.

“What I meant,” Potter continued, a finger trailing up Draco’s arm. “Is that I wasn’t able to detect your magic until you taught me. What if I can’t feel it because my magic isn’t compatible?”

Compatible. Draco’s hands gripped Potter’s waist as he sat up straighter.

“But now that you’re aware of Dark Magic, it shouldn’t be hard to feel.”

“You said it was different though, right? That Life Magic was an evil different than regular Dark Magic. Maybe I can’t detect it because I don’t know what I’m looking for.”

If that was the case, then Potter was never going to be able to feel it. There was no way in hell he’d teach Potter how to do Life Magic.

“I don’t know what to do,” Draco admitted, and the admission hurt. He didn’t think there was a way they could track it, not if it was constantly moving. He felt out of his element, and he didn’t like it.

“That’s okay,” Potter hovered a hand near Draco’s face, not touching. There was a plea in his eyes, and Draco nodded.

The warmth of Potter’s hand on his cheek was nice. Reminded him of the night before, and he wished he could go back to that, go back to when the only thing he had to worry about was money and things changing between them.

“We can figure it out together.”

Together. His stomach fluttered, but his mind was wary. Emotions of the heart rarely lined up with thoughts. Together sounded nice, but together brought in a bunch of complications. Did he want that? Did he want complications with Potter?

A loud blaring alarm boomed around them, and Draco wasn’t ashamed of the yell that spilled from his mouth.

“Come on!” Potter stood up quickly and pulled Draco up. “We have to go.”

“What the hell is that alarm? Can't you shut it off?” It was screeching and hurt his ears.

The cart took off and he had no idea where they were going. It went faster than it had before, and it made Draco nauseous.

This time he was prepared for the jarring stop and didn’t need the arm Potter wrapped around him, not that he was going to say anything.

A quick glance as he got out of the cart showed they were in some kind of hub. There were duty stations, piles of gold, flying parchment and dozens of Goblins moving quickly in what looked like pacing. If he didn’t know any better, Draco would think they were panicking.

“What’s going on?”

Two Goblins stopped near them. One of them eyed Draco suspiciously, but he just stuck his tongue out.

“There’s been another disappearance.”

Potter swore under his breath, and Draco could feel the magic inside him become agitated.

“Another customer?”

“No, Ulnok is missing.”

“The mean one that made me fall through that pit? I—_ow_.” Potter elbowed him, hard. The Goblin that hadn’t been friendly looked murderous, silver eyes shining bright. He inched closer to Potter.

“Where was he last seen?”

“The brigade vaults.”

Potter let out a slow whistle. “What was he doing there? Those vaults have no descendants to claim the contents.”

“Ulnok discovered that money has been leaving the vaults, but there are no records of it having been opened in over 600 years.”

That couldn’t be a coincidence, that had to mean something. “We have to check it out.”

“Malfoy—”

“Potter, we don’t know where to look. This is our best shot; it could still be there.”

“What if it’s not?”

“Then maybe it’ll be nearby. With it being so soon, I might be able to pick up magical traces.”

Draco could tell that Potter didn’t like it, but it was the only plan they had. If it could be called a plan at all.

“Alright, let’s go.”

The magic inside him was swirling as they got back into the cart and zoomed away. He knew it wasn’t just Potter’s magic either. Draco wasn’t sure what to expect, and the outcome was unknown.

It took longer than he thought it would to get there, but when they got closer, he couldn’t help but gape. The Black & Malfoy vaults were old, required higher security, and was secluded from other customer vaults. As he looked at the brigade vaults, it made his own look tiny.

“What the fuck?”

“The brigade vaults are six vaults connected through passages that stretch dozens of kilometres. There are little subsidiary vaults that hang off the main branch as well.”

“Why in the world does someone need this much space?”

“It’s rumoured the owner had been a travelling prince from a foreign country,” Potter said as they came to a standstill.

The moment Draco stepped out, he staggered back into Potter.

“Whoa, you okay?”

The magical traces in the other vaults were _nothing_ compared to what he could feel now. The intensity had increased and so did the magic itself, as if it were stronger.

“I can feel the magic.”

“Then the stone was here. We just have to figure out which vault it was in.”

“Lead the way, Mr Curse-Breaker.”

“You just don’t want to go in first.”

“Such an accurate accusation, one I don’t appreciate.”

With each step forward, Draco felt like retreating. Anyone willing to do Life Magic was fucked up, and he hated every Alchemist that ever tried.

Potter placed his hand on the door, and Draco watched the transactions it showed, not that it made sense.

“I can see that Ulnok was the last one who entered.”

“Then who is taking the gold?”

Potter looked at Draco with an uneasiness that he wasn’t used to seeing. “I don’t know.”

The vault opened with a slow creak that was far too ominous for Draco’s liking.

“Kind of musty,” Potter wrinkled his nose.

That wasn’t the only thing that was musty. Now that they were inside the vault, the magic’s depth seemed massive. It was constricting, and it felt like he was being suffocated in it, or at least his magic did.

“Oh wow,” Draco said as he looked around the main entrance. It was _filled_ with so much. Not just gold either. There was handmade jewellery of bright and rich colours; the origin unknown. Clothes were strewn around, almost carelessly, but even that was handmade.

Massive vases with designs carved into them drew his attention the deeper they went. They looked like runes, but none that he recognized. The temptation to know what was inside was strong.

“Don’t touch anything.”

It was like Potter_ knew_ him.

As they hit one of the passageways, he expected it to be empty, but that too was filled with discarded items. Intricate shields, bows and swords were littered on the ground.

“Is that—is that a chariot?”

“Looks like it,” Potter said. There was an odd expression on his face, but Draco didn’t care. He was too interested in the contents of the vault.

Draco almost tripped over wooden boxes that were falling apart. When he bent down to investigate, he could tell it was a game of some kind. The pieces were hand made, and the board resembled that of chess but smaller.

“Whoever owned this vault wasn’t British,” Potter said as he stopped to look at a plaque of artwork that had faded to the point that it was hard to see anything.

“No shit.” He bypassed Potter and left the passage only to freeze at the entrance of the next vault.

“Potter.”

“Hm?” Came a distracted hum.

“When you said prince, do you think Pharaoh was more accurate?” 

The warmth of Potter against his back was accompanied by a gasp.

“Those are canopic jars.”

“I know.” The top of the jars were all different, but each one clearly showing what it was. The most intriguing one was the head of a Sphinx.

“Ancient Egyptians used to preserve organs for the afterlife and stored them in canopic jars.”

“Yes, I know.” Did Potter have hearing problems?

“What are they doing here?” Potter asked, and Draco didn’t think that was a question for him, so he ignored it. “Why wouldn’t all of this be with the Egyptian Ministry?”

“Someone clearly didn’t want that.”

Draco was about to walk into the passage, but he noticed a death mask.

“Whoa.” He’d seen depictions of them in History of Magic, but the grainy photos didn’t do it justice. “I think this is made of solid gold.”

“Don’t touch it,” Potter warned as he entered the passage.

_“I know.” _

The hieroglyphics on the death mask were still visible, and he wondered what it said. The craftsmanship was beautiful.

“Malfoy!”

There was an edge of panic in his voice and Draco took off at a sprint, only to run right into Potter’s back. They were standing at the entrance to the next vault, but he could only see the width of broad shoulders.

“There are paintings in here.”

“Okay _and?_” Paintings were normal for vaults. That’s where his father had kept all the relatives he didn’t like.

“The name on the bottom of them are all the same.”

Draco was two seconds away from pushing Potter forward. He was failing to see the point or significance.

“That’s the name that was etched into the sarcophagus I took the stone from.”

His heart skipped a beat as his mind blanked momentarily. _What?_

Draco pushed Potter aside so he could get a better look. “Honestly, not everyone is as big as you, okay? I couldn’t see shit back—”

The words left him as he took notice of the painting. It was old, the design along the border screamed wealth, but what made him pause was the man depicted.

_“Are you kidding me?”_

His knees buckled, and the only thing that kept him upright was Potter’s quick hands grasping his waist.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“I’ve seen him.” The same eyes, same face and even the same hair colour. Only difference was where he had seen a timid smile, the painting was a cruel smirk.

“In books? I’m sure it’s possible—”

_“No!”_ Draco’s hands shook the longer he stared. “That guy came into my shop the day before I went to Gringotts to talk to the Goblins about the stone.”

“What?” The hysteria to Potter’s voice was exactly how Draco felt.

“He was trying to sell me a book.”

“What book?” Potter asked and there was a harshness to him that was absent moments before.

“Secrets of the Darkest Arts,” Draco whispered. “The book is outlawed, and he seemed so shocked when I told him.”

He had been played. Draco slammed the side of his hand against the wall of the passage and swore at both the situation and the pain it caused.

“Did you buy it?”

“Of course I did! The book is worth a fortune. Swindled him too, only paid 50 galleons for it.”

“You swindle your customers?”

“Everyone does. It’s called _business_.” Draco shook his head. “That’s not important. Clearly the fucker knew what he had.”

“Then why sell it?”

“I don’t know.” It made him uneasy. Why go to him? He wasn’t the only bookstore in Knockturn Alley, just the only one with a shitty reputation.

“Do you think he knew you’d go to the Goblins?”

“I don’t see how.” Draco threw his hands up in frustration. “I could have just as easily said fuck it and let the Goblins figure it out themselves. He doesn’t know me.”

_‘Oh but I do.’_

Draco jumped at the disembodied voice and felt Potter pull out his wand.

_‘You try. Try so hard to exist in a world that wishes you wouldn’t. I know what that’s like.’ _

“Shut up,” Draco snarled as he tried to figure out where the voice was coming from. He stepped fully into the vault, but there was nobody there, just a room full of treasures and junk.

_‘You’re lonely, aren’t you? So am I. I’ve been around for so long and always alone.’ _

“Don’t listen to him.”

Galleons on the ground exploded as soon as Potter spoke, and Draco raised a hand to conjure a shield.

_‘Silence. This does not concern you.’ _

Potter scoffed as he followed Draco down the passage. This one was longer, and Draco couldn’t see the end of it.

“It’s so damn dark,” Draco complained. No sooner had he said it, did Potter light up the area with a Lumos.

“Ah!” Draco jumped as the light illuminated the walls of the passage. There were mirrors along every inch of the path. He could see both himself and Potter in so many different angles. It was startling and disturbing.

“What the fuck is this?”

_‘You can see me too.’_

Draco grabbed Potter’s hand the moment a face appeared in the mirror. It was the same man from his shop. Anger was all he felt as he stared at the mirror. How Draco had ever fallen for the dupe was beyond him.

“They’re two-way mirrors,” Potter said, face moving over Draco’s shoulder to get a closer look. “He’s not here, just watching us.”

“Creepy motherfucker,” Draco sneered at the unimpressed face staring back.

_‘I’ve waited so long for someone to discover my tomb.’ _

“The credit lies with you, Potter.” Draco wasn’t touching that; Potter could take the blame.

“How was I supposed to know?”

“You find a creepy tomb in a creepy pyramid that not even locals want to touch, which holds a fucking Philosopher’s Stone, and you have the audacity to say, ‘how was I supposed to know’?”

“I don’t think now is the time for blaming.”

Draco scoffed. “It’s a perfect time!”

_‘Society has changed so much since the last time I’ve seen the light.’ _

Purely out of curiosity Draco asked, “And how long ago was that?”

A smack to the back of his head had him wanting to trip Potter.

“Don’t encourage him.”

_‘Years mean nothing to me. It was the time of Flamel, for he was who set me free.’ _

Flamel. Instead of Potter being the one to trip, it was Draco—over his own feet.

_‘He was also the one to seal me away again.’ _

“Potter,” Draco began through clenched teeth. “Please tell me you didn’t undo a seal.”

Silence.

“I would just like to point out before you do anything rash, is that all pyramids have seals on them. That’s the whole point of my job. I break curses, seals, barriers and anything else.”

Draco spun around, hands clenching and un-clenching in the air. Fuck, he was tempted to strangle Potter. It wasn’t worth it. Murder wasn’t worth it. With a deep breath, he continued down the passage.

“Why did Flamel seal you away?”

“I wish you’d quit indulging him. We don’t know what he’s capable of.”

“I wish you’d shut up.”

Angry mumbling was all he could hear, and Draco wondered how close Potter was to wanting to murder him too.

_‘I could no longer offer assistance. His stone was now complete and mine was not.’ _

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “You told Flamel how to finish his stone?”

_‘I merely offered knowledge. The knowledge of my people, and the knowledge of Mid-Alchemy.’ _

“Mid-Alchemy?” What the fuck was that?

_‘The go-between for the creator.’ _

Oh Merlin, not that shit again. What was with Alchemists and their unwavering belief in a creator?

“So he figured out how to finish your work and duplicated it? Leaving you to rot in a tomb?”

There was no response, but Draco didn’t need one. It wasn’t a surprise what Flamel had done, typical Dark wizard. If he had the affinity and lack of morals for Life Magic, he’d have done the same.

“I’m curious,” Draco said, eyes on the mirrors they passed by, which showed Potter rolling his eyes. Prick.

“If Flamel was the one to unseal you, and you showed yourself to him. Why didn’t you do the same for Potter?”

The disgust on Potter’s face had him trying to fight a snort.

_‘There’s no talent in him.’ _

“Excuse you?”

Draco really did snort that time, even slapped his knee.

_‘No talent for the craft’ _

“Alchemy?”

_‘Life Magic.’ _

“Hey,” Draco held up his hands. “Neither do I. That’s not something I’ve ever done.”

_‘You could. The ability is there and so is the power. Why not embrace it?’_

No. His magic began to grow restless and his heart rate increased. Life Magic was horrible, evil, ripped apart human life and for what? To extend someone else’s? The notion itself was sickening. That wasn’t for him, he didn’t want it. He could feel his fingers shake and even his breathing became rapid.

A hand on his back soothed him, and he felt his magic settle. For some reason, Potter was an anchor to him, something that kept him grounded.

“I don’t want to,” Draco growled. “Life Magic is an evil that I refuse to touch.”

Items along the floor exploded outward, and Draco grabbed Potter’s hand and sprinted down the passage, ignoring the way the mirrors yelled at him. 

Light at the end had them slowing down. It wasn’t until they were at the entrance did Draco cover his mouth.

There in the middle of the vault was the unfinished stone, missing chunk nearly filled in, surrounded by 6 massive canopic jars suspended mid-air with visible pure Life Magic connecting it all together. There was another circle around the area. It was empty, except for a single dying plant.

_‘Do you feel it? Do you feel the power? You could harness it, become something more.’_

Draco looked over his shoulder and shot a ricocheting Bombarda down the passage. Shattering glass echoed around them, and it was satisfying.

“Was that necessary?”

Yes, because Draco_ could _feel it. His eyes closed as the Life Magic expanded; the power was there. So much power. It wasn’t a surprise why Alchemists chose that path; the magic alone was overwhelming. Tempting. So tempting.

“—alfoy, Malfoy!”

His eyes snapped open in time to see a new tendril of Life Magic leave the stone, it was outstretched and moving towards him.

No. He didn’t want it. Couldn’t. Temptation only worked on the susceptible and that wasn’t him.

_“NO!” _

Draco tried to raise a shield, but his magic receded, it wouldn’t come. Again, and again, and _again_. Each attempt was futile. The closer the tendril got, the more he tried to protect himself.

Cold. The cold energy inside of him that belonged to Potter pushed his own magic down, as if it were a shield. When Draco raised his hand and tried one last time, a protection spell shot out, a bright blinding blue that reverted the Life Magic back into the stone.

_“How?”_ Potter whispered in awe. “How did you just use my magic?”

Draco panted, his free hand gripping his wrist to support the barrier. “I have no idea.”

“I could_ feel _it.” Potter’s eyes were looking down at his chest. “It felt like I was casting but I wasn’t.”

Exhaustion overtook him, and he wanted to slump down and take a nap. Was Light Magic always so tiring?

“I need you to listen to me,” Draco said, voice sounding as tired as he felt. “You’re going to throw one of those jars into the passage behind us.”

“What? Why?”

“Afterward,” Draco continued, pointedly ignoring the questions. “I need you to get behind this shield.”

“Malfoy—”

_“Please.” _

It was obvious he didn’t want to, but Potter nodded anyway. With long arms that Draco didn’t have, Potter grabbed hold of the nearest jar and did as Draco asked before rushing behind him.

The moment the jar broke, Draco let go of his wrist and extended his other hand, calling forth the cold magic inside of him, and raised another protection spell.

Two cries rang out. One from the tendril of Life Magic that had nowhere to go, and one from a little girl in the shattered remains of the jar. Her eyes were closed, and she appeared to be suspended in sleep.

“What the fuck!” Potter yelled as he shifted to move towards the passage.

“Don’t move! Not unless you want to take her place up there.” 

“She needs help! She’s in pain.”

“She’s alive!” Draco snarled. “But if you go over there, none of us are going to walk out of here.”

With each moment that passed, Draco could feel his energy draining, and he wasn’t sure he could keep going for much longer.

The tendril that had been attached to the jar receded into the stone, and that was when he had Potter break another jar, freeing a Goblin.

“Malfoy,” Potter whimpered and there was so much sorrow in his voice that Draco already knew what he’d say.

“That Goblin’s not moving.”

“The stone is sucking the life out of them,” Draco said. “It was too late for him.”

Potter’s hand was clenched in the back of his robes, and he wished he could tell him to get a grip. Draco understood emotions—barely—but they clouded judgment and made stressful situations that much harder. He needed Potter at his best.

“There could be more people just like that Goblin. I’m going to need you to remain strong, can you do that for me?”

Potter jerked his head in agreement, and Draco wondered if their magic being intertwined had made Potter more sensitive to death or if he’d always been that way.

Another jar, another person. A noise left an old man, and they both sighed in relief. Halfway there, but Draco’s eyes were closing, and he knew their time was running out.

“Can you do two at once?” Draco asked, and he had to concentrate on getting the words out. “It’s more dangerous, but so is everything else in here.”

“Yeah.” Draco felt Potter nod before he dashed out.

Two more jars, two more people. Both weren’t moving, and if there really was a creator out there, then he prayed that they would be alive.

“One more.”

When Potter threw the last one, a loud, ear-shattering cry came from the stone, drowning out the sound of the jar breaking. A quick glance showed it was Ulnok, who was breathing but asleep.

The last tendril of Life Magic was flailing back and forth, searching for something to hold onto.

“Potter, if I can get you close enough to the stone, will you be able to put it inside a containment void?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Good.” He could do that, there was enough energy left for that.

“What about that light? What’s it going to do?”

Draco took a step forward, both hands still pushing out protection spells.

“The other tendrils went back into the stone. Not quite dormant but not a concern for us at the moment. The last one, however, appears to be independent. It’s not going to go away.”

“How do we stop it?”

“We’re going to give it a new target.” He braced himself for the impending fight. “Me.”

“No!” Potter shook his shoulder. “What are you on about? There’s got to be another way.”

“If you know of one, now is the time to share.”

“Malfoy, don’t do this.”

Draco pushed a little more magic into the shield covering the people on the floor. He could tether it to the ground, but the moment the Life Magic took him, the spell would fail.

“I thought we were going to do this together.”

Draco turned the best he could and used his free hand to cup Potter’s cheek.

“Potter, you're good, _so good_. I’m not. I need you to save them. That’s what you do; you save people. You’re a saviour, society’s saviour, and now theirs.”

“I don’t want to be a saviour.” Potter’s eyes were glassy. “I just want to be me, and I want you to be able to be there next to me.”

His eyes stung, and he wanted to close them, but he couldn’t. Not when he wanted to remember his last moment with Potter. Draco’s eyes traced Potter’s face, and he was taken aback by the beauty. Had he ever told Potter he was beautiful?

“When the Life Magic takes me, I need you to put the stone in the containment void, and then you have to get the fuck out of here.”

“Not without you.”

“My body isn’t going to be able to contain all that energy. The magic, I can keep, but there’ll be an explosion of residual energy. If you don’t leave, then you’ll fall victim to it.”

Potter’s face crumpled, and Draco wiped a tear with his thumb. He knew he shouldn’t, but if Draco was going to go, then he wanted to feel Potter one last time.

He pressed their lips together and it was filled with so many emotions, ones that he’d never get to explore with Potter. It was bittersweet and filled with too many tears.

“You’re going to save them,” Draco whispered against Potter’s lips, and he willed himself to stay strong enough to not cry. “And then you’re going to eat that dinner that you were going to make me.”

Potter’s shoulders shook and more tears fell. 

“Malfoy—”

“Draco, please just once, I want to hear it.”

“Draco,” Potter sobbed, and Draco had to push him away as his own eyes watered.

With watery eyes and a bruised heart, Draco lowered his protection spell and watched as the tendril snapped in his direction before darting forward and latching on.

A scream echoed around the room, and he was distantly aware that it was his own. Pain unlike anything he had ever felt surged throughout his body. His magic was already warm, but it increased in temperature, and it felt like he was burning alive from the inside out.

“Now!” Draco yelled as he fought another scream. “Take it now.”

There wasn’t a difference in the level of pain, but Draco trusted Potter enough to know that the stone was in the containment void.

Life Magic wasn’t containable, not in the way normal Dark Magic was. The sheer volume of power would never be able to be controlled, not completely. No matter how powerful Flamel or the creepy Pharaoh had been, there had to have been life-lasting consequences.

Draco couldn’t open his eyes; he was worried it would act as an exit for the energy inside of him. As the Life Magic took over completely, he could feel it warring with his magic, could feel the way his core refused to surrender.

A fighter, even to the end.

Staying conscious was a struggle. He couldn’t do it, couldn’t keep going. The last thing he felt before darkness completely engulfed him was Potter’s cold magic wrapping around his own, and that was the perfect depiction of their relationship.

How fitting that Potter would remain in his thoughts till the end. Always Potter.

Always.


	6. Emotions in Abundance

_‘Can you hear me? Mister Malfoy, I need you to try and stay awake for me.’ _

Noise was all around him. Wading through it enough to make sense of it was hard, but he tried. Was someone talking to him?

_‘You were brought into St. Mungo’s with fried magical receptors. Your core is fine, but we have to repair a lot of internal injuries.’ _

Silence was typical, so why was the noise around? Couldn’t it go back to the quiet?

_‘There are risks involved and we can’t guarantee anything, but the Healer on shift is confident that you will be just fine.’ _

Tired. He was so tired. Sleep was what he needed, he’d just go to bed and wake up at another time.

_‘No, Mister Malfoy, you must stay awake. Can you hear me? Can you—code red! Get me a healer in here now!’ _

* * *

When Draco opened his eyes the first thing he noticed was Potter sitting beside him and that he felt weird.

“Where am I?”

Potter’s head snapped up, and Draco could see purple shadows underneath his eyes.

“Draco!”

“Easy,” Draco chuckled when Potter came closer. “I’m fine.”

Potter looked down at Draco’s hands before picking one of them up and playing with his fingers.

“What do you remember?”

It was flashes and gaps missing, but the gist of it was, “We were in a vault and I told you to leave.”

“Yeah, because you’re stupid.”

“That’s not nice,” Draco closed his eyes, but his lips curved upward. He was still so tired.

“I used to think I was noble and at times idiotic—”

“You are.”

“But _you_ hold that title now. I don’t ever want to hear another word about how I have a fixation for danger.”

“Did it work? How am I alive?”

The grip on his fingers tightened and he peeked with one eye opened.

“I didn’t leave.”

Draco tried to sit up, but his whole body ached, and he slumped back down. “What do you mean you didn’t leave? I_ told_ you to.”

“You were right about the explosion,” Potter rubbed the back of his head and wouldn’t meet Draco’s eyes. “You were lying there on the ground, not moving or even breathing, and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t leave.”

“What did you do?”

“Opened the containment void and let the explosion enter there. Next time that opens it’ll be a bloody disaster. Probably nuclear bomb levels of destruction.”

“And it worked?” Just what the hell was a containment void? And when could he have one?

“For the most part.”

“What does that mean?”

“The entire brigade vaults are destroyed. Everything in there was blown apart.”

That wasn’t a surprise. If that was only a fraction of the leftover magic, he couldn’t imagine what the destruction would’ve done if full.

“The people? What about them?”

“The three that weren’t moving were already dead.” Potter shook his head, and Draco could feel the cold energy swirl inside him angrily. One corner of Potter’s lips quirked up, and he was pretty sure it was because Draco could feel his magic trying to comfort him.

“But the others are fine. Shaken, might need a mind healer, but fine.”

“If the void hadn’t contained most of the explosion, they would have all died, you included.”

“I know.” Potter glanced up, and his eyes looked every bit as exhausted as the rest of him.

“That’s not very saviour-like.”

“I told you,” Potter’s fingers traced Draco’s wrist. “I don’t want to be a saviour anymore. I chose you over them.”

Draco turned his hand until he was able to intertwine their fingers, and he pulled Potter on top of him.

“That’s kind of selfish of you.”

“I’ve never been selfish before,” Potter whispered as he rubbed his nose against Draco’s. “I thought it would come with more guilt than it does.”

“You don’t feel bad?” he asked curiously. “Saving me versus potentially saving three?”

“No,” Potter admitted as their foreheads pressed together. “I saved them _and_ you, how could I feel bad about that?”

Draco wanted to kiss him, so he did.

“How long have I been asleep?” It was mumbled against plump lips.

“A week.”

“Good Merlin, why?”

Potter’s face shuttered. Draco raised a hand to cup his cheek, and a flashback of the last time he did that flittered across his mind.

“You needed a magical transfusion.”

His eyes widened. “What the fuck?” Magical transfusions were for those whose magic could no longer support the body.

“They weren’t sure you’d live.” There was pain in his eyes that made Draco wonder what exactly had happened during that week.

“When they said they’d put you on a donor list, I volunteered.”

“Of course you did.”

There was a flush on Potter’s cheeks, and Draco _finally_ found out if it was as warm as his magic.

It was.

“They tried to lecture me about the dangers of incompatible magic and stressed the importance of testing it. And wouldn’t you know it, we are compatible,” Potter theatrically gasped, mock surprise as his eyes widened.

“What did they say?”

“They called it a modern miracle,” Potter snorted. “Said they’d never seen magic so willing to help before.”

“Your magic likes me,” Draco teased, and the flush intensified. “Do you like me just as much?”

Potter’s lips brushed against his softly, so softly it was barely there. “More. I like you more than my magic does.”

“That’s a bold statement.”

“One that’ll earn me that date?”

Draco smiled against Potter’s lips as he felt both magic inside him begin to chase each other.

“Yeah,” he whispered between gentle kisses that felt like a caress. “I’ll go on a date with you.”

Potter’s answering smile was beautiful, and it reminded him of something. Something he was forgetting to say.

“You’re beautiful.”

He’d never tire of seeing Potter blush, it was something he wanted to see often.

Potter _had _said they’d do it together. Did that extend past Gringotts? He’d like it to. Together sounded nice when it came to them.

“Go to sleep,” Potter whispered when Draco yawned. “I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

“I just have one question.” Another yawn. “What’s a nuclear bomb?”

The laugh that echoed around the room also shook the bed, and Draco thought _that_ was true magic. It filled him with the same emotions he felt back in the vault. Only now it wasn’t bittersweet. Now he could explore them if he wanted.

And want them he did.

Draco closed his eyes again and melted into a warm embrace as strong arms wrapped around him. He was tired again, but it was okay, he could sleep. Potter would protect him. 

As his magic settled in preparation for sleep, it was obvious that it was less than it had been before, but it was still there, still standing.

Just like him.

* * *

**Epilogue **

“Remind me why you are here again?” Draco asked from his position on the floor. He had bewitched the ceiling to move in intricate patterns, and it really was only to pass the time.

“Excuse me,” George placed a hand to his chest. “I thought you could use some company.”

Draco rolled onto his side till he was facing George. “Maybe I could.”

“Do you miss him?”

“No.” Yes.

The snort he got in return was not appreciated. “He’s only been gone a month. Not enough time to miss him.”

“He misses you too.”

Draco picked at the hole in the wood that had formed from when he had placed the runes all those months ago. It had decayed, just like he thought it would. Only Potter wasn’t there for him to rub it in.

Okay, maybe he did miss him.

“How do you know?”

“Because he loves you.”

Draco’s eyes snapped up and his heart skipped a beat. He felt Potter’s magic soothe his and it would never not make him smile.

“He hasn’t said that to me.”

George arched a brow. “Do you need him to?”

No. Not when Potter wore his emotions on his sleeve like the moron that he is.

“Is your magic still connected?” George asked. Draco knew George had been fascinated when he had found out, thought it was similar to how he and his brother had been connected.

“Yes,” Draco smiled warmly. Sometimes, it surprised him how much he enjoyed feeling Potter’s magic. It was a tether, one that Draco relied on when he didn’t think he was okay.

“Any idea what it is yet?”

Draco shrugged. He had tried to research it but whatever kind of magical connection they had wasn’t in any records that were available to the public.

“Does it ever bother you?”

“No.” Never. “It lets me know he’s okay.” Whenever Potter did a spell, Draco could feel it, could tell what the spell was and how comfortable he was at the time of casting. Their connection didn’t tell him anything that Potter wouldn’t have. It just made it easier.

Draco wasn’t sure exactly what the connection was, but he had grown to like it, and on a good day he’d even admit to having always liked it. Whether they discovered an origin or not, it didn’t bother him. He’d be connected to Potter in other ways regardless of their intertwined magic.

Merlin, he missed him.

“Has he contacted you?” Draco asked instead of dwelling on stupid emotions. “I talked to him last night.”

“What did he say?”

“That he thinks they are getting closer to tracking down the Pharaoh.” Potter had tried to tell him the man’s name, but he didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to make it more personal than it was.

“Did he mention my brother at all? Has Ron broken down and cried yet?”

Draco snorted harshly. “Potter didn’t say. But I could hear your brother whining in the background about a lack of food in their tent and it was Deja Vu all over again and that if he had known he’d be reliving their youth, he’d have given the assignment to someone else.”

“Why do you still call him that?”

“What, Potter?”

George nodded as he propped his head on his palm.

“He hasn’t asked me to call him Harry.”

“But he calls you by your first name.”

A small smile quirked his lips. “That’s because I asked him to.”

“I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“We’ve never been first names to each other. I asked him to call me by mine and it’s intimate in a way. Potter will let me know when he’s ready for that. I don’t mind waiting.”

A surge of energy filled him, and Draco knew it was Potter thinking of him. Strong emotions caused surges and he was pretty sure what that one was.

Even if Potter hadn’t admitted it yet.

“I think he’d have liked you,” George whispered and for the first time in months, there was no sorrow in his voice. Draco didn’t have to ask to know who he was talking about.

“Yeah? I think I’d have liked him too.”

The smile he got in return was shaky, so Draco reached out his hand to hold on tightly to George’s.

“More than me?”

“No,” Draco grinned. “I think you’d have been my favourite twin.”

“He was my favourite twin,” George whispered.

Draco moved closer until his head rested against George’s shoulder.

“Tell me about him,” Draco asked, even though he had heard everything George would tell him. They had the same conversation at least once a month, but it was one he’d never tire of hearing. 

They laid there for hours, until they had laughed over pranks, cried over memories and the spell had worn off and all they were staring at was an old ceiling that needed to be repaired.

“I’m glad Harry brought the stone back from Egypt.”

His lips pursed and Draco lifted his head to stare at George in confusion. “Why?”

“It brought him to you, and you make him happy. Life is looking up for the both of you.”

“He makes me happy too.” Happier than he thought he’d be, happier than he thought he deserved. Draco wasn’t sure his life was any better than before, all that had changed was who he walked his life with.

“It also brought you to me.” George smiled softly. “You’re my best friend.”

“Ew, sap hours,” Draco teased before he pulled George into a hug. “You’re mine too,” he whispered back.

With Potter and George in his life, silence had been replaced with noise; a change he welcomed. But as they remained on the floor, silence was comforting.

“Let’s go eat,” George said after a while, breaking the silence. “I heard there’s a new restaurant that opened in Diagon Alley that’s horrible. I figure we go, eat shitty food, complain and get a free meal.”

“Free shitty food,” Draco drawled. “Why not go somewhere else and get food that’s not going to make us sick?”

“Always expensive you are.”

“You don’t have to pay for me.”

George gasped; the sound offended. “It’s my treat, of course I’m going to pay.”

“Your treat but yet you wanted to take me to a horrible restaurant.”

“You know what?” George began to tickle his sides and Draco tried to squirm away. “There’s just no pleasing you.”

The sound of the bell above the door had Draco groaning. “No, I don’t want any ladyfingers Mrs. Crooks. Neither does George, he’s allergic.”

“Um, who?”

Draco startled into a standing position and pulled George with him.

“Sorry about that,” Draco cleared his throat. “Thought you were my neighbour.”

“Oh.” A lady with long blue hair and kind eyes smiled at him. “I was hoping to buy some books from you.”

Draco blinked rapidly. _Buy?_ Someone actually wanted to buy something? An elbow to the ribs got him moving behind the counter.

“Welcome to Malfoy’s Emporium, how can I help you?”

Perhaps George was right. Maybe his life was looking up after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been a wild ride writing for this fest. The ideas that flowed and the way I was able to explore magical theory was a unique experience for me. I hope you all enjoyed it. Let me know your thoughts, I am quite curious on your take of my Dark Magic.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please support the author by clicking on the kudos button and leaving a comment below! ♥


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